Bluthton
by Immaculately
Summary: Michael and Maeby partner to run the Bluth Company, and more. WARNINGS: SMUT SCENES, MINOR INCEST. Maeby x Michael, George Michael x Rebel, George Michael x Maeby, Michael x Lindsay, and the rest of the family. Soundtrack goo. gl /YDbrx9
1. Here We Come

_Balboa Bay, Orange County, California. With the housing bubble still in trouble, the Bluths continued their push into the business of building…buildings._

The cheap infomercial set and B-grade camera equipment stood around them, as they spun out their stock spiel.

"With two bedrooms, a bathroom, a living area, and kitchen, how could you not buy one of these beautiful new homes?" Maeby gestured to the camera.

"Absolutely, It's the perfect family home, and look, they're just walking off the plan, the phones are ringing hot!" Michael also gestured to the camera.

"If you buy today, we can also throw in free satellite WIFI, which is perfect if you need the internet, or any phone connection! It's not for everyone, but for me, I find myself making phone calls with it, Skyping, Facebook, so many uses for it today!"

"It's just an added bonus but what great value! What a fantastic deal today, to buy in with Bluth homes!"

_It was a slightly different Bluth company to the year earlier._

On the landing of the stair car at the Cinco di Cuatro festival, a desperate Michael had pleaded, "I'm going to have sex with you, for money." to Lucille #2.

_Bluth-Austero had been in turmoil, having barely weathered the financial chaos, dependent on further investment to prop up its failing books. Michael Bluth had decided the best time to start construction on a whole suite of new homes was at the climax of the financial crisis, a great time in everyone's books, and especially this company's. But the main investor to the company was dead_,

Lucille #2 had screamed and a series of thumps were heard on the stair car.

_Her money lost in a quagmire of legal proceedings, for as forward thinking as their benevolent benefactor always seemed to be investing in a company that had been for years a "sell" with Mad Money, she didn't have a last will and testament._

Perfecto had sat in a crisp black suit and tie, with Barry Zuckercorn on the opposite side of the table.

"The Bluth company owes Perfecto Telles five million dollars."

"What would make you say that?" Barry had asked, then turning to wink at George Senior.

Perfecto's lawyer, Bob Loblaw, had slid a piece of paper across the table. "This is a cheque written by the late Ms Austero, for five million dollars, made out to the Bluth company. Cashed by you, George Bluth."

Barry had nodded slowly, then whispered loudly to George Senior, "He's good."

_The Bluth company badly needed new investors to pay off its major creditor. Fortunately, though, a family member with a lot of investors, needed somewhere safe to park credit._

"Maeby, you're fired." George Michael had steered the golf cart away from her.

_A company which was still rated "Don't buy", but safer than the Bluth's other ventures._

Lucille had watched the TV in her room at the luxury prison with mouth agape, as Buster stood beside the wall, and George Senior droves the bus around and around. "They caddyshacked'd it!"

_And which the number of unemployed Bluths needed just at that moment. Which is how Michael Bluth, and his non-biological niece Maeby Bluth, found themselves working together again._

Michael had neatly stacked the papers and folders on his desk, answering his phone.

"Hey, hey, how's my Unkie Mike?" he heard over the line.

"Maeby. Thanks for the advice by the way."

"No problem, how did it go?"

George Michael had then punched Michael in the face outside Rebel Alley's apartment block.

"It really made an impact." Michael summarised.

"Great. Do you know where the company chequebook is?"

"Yes, why would you need that?"

"I need to make some investments. For the good of the company."

"What kind of, investments?"

"In children. As they're our future."

"It sounds to me like you'd wish to get a salary, the company can't just hand money out. You're going to have to work for it."

_And that's how Michael and Maeby found themselves doing an infomercial for housing developments on the home shopping network._

"Unbeatable deal today, Michael." Maeby grinned, "The growth in value on these properties has been 100% just this year, imagine that over ten years!"

A disclaimer flashed on the screen, 'The financial advice provided on this show is general in nature, consult your financial planner to see if this is right for you'

_That was the two days between when the sex offenders moved out, and they put their houses in the market._

"Fantastic, fantastic value, you won't find better value or a better location!"

_The ticky tack boxes in the desert were in fact starting to move, and even though the spiel was part bluff, the Bluths had started selling houses for the first time in fifteen years. Partly due to their new CEO, and CFO._

Michael sat at the head of the board, glancing at Maeby, as a board member droned on.

"…and the SEC will not be happy to hear the misrepresentation in those ads…"

"Let me stop you there, Bill." Michael raised a hand, "I think the CFO and I are doing a fantastic job and our homes are actually selling, so unless there's a complaint, I think we should stay on the wagon."

"There's been complaints." Another board member piped up.

"How many?"

"Forty-five."

Michael floundered, "Well, uh…"

"Until we get something in writing, that's just speculation." Maeby interjected. "We'll handle it then."

"The charges have been filed, it's on all the Wagon." The board member insisted.

The woman got two blank stares from the Executives.

"Prosecutor, Denis Wagon." Jerry volunteered.

"And that's what we are paying you for, to handle our legal matters." Michael asserted to Jerry. "Anything else?"

_Having a CEO who didn't know all of the day to date dramas of the Bluth company was now due to better management, rather than just George and Lucille. With Maeby's capital, and Michael's management, the Bluth company had purchased a new plot of land, and had even turned the first sod. And cut a ribbon, as all Bluth sod turnings include. But Michael had made sure only he and his CFO were attending from the family, the rest of his staff working productively. _

"Thank you, thank you all for being here today. I wasn't around for the first sod of the last successful housing project, but I certainly wouldn't miss this one. Maeby, can you pass me the scissors?"

Maeby's eyes darted, trying to scan as to where they'd gone. Spotting them in the car far from the reporters, she jogged towards the car.

"While we're waiting, can I also say, the Bluth Company is extremely proud of its recent financial turn around. Rome wasn't built in a day, but we are on track like never before."

"What about the case against you with the SEC?" interjected a reporter.

"That's not even reached the courts, and we are confident of a quick resolution."

"So this company hasn't fallen off the wagon?"

Maeby dashed towards the group, the scissors in hand.

"No, between myself and my CFO, we're surging forward at a rapid rate."

"Michael Bluth, didn't your mother tell you to not run with scissors?" Asked another reporter, while the group snapped Maeby.

"No, I think adults we can…"

Maeby failed to see the turned sod and tripped, flying forward into Michael and collecting him in a heap in the dirt, as the group of reporters swarmed.

Michael leaned back into his leatherette desk chair. "That is one of our better headlines." He held up the paper, 'In the dirt: Bluth's latest investment'.

"That's the late edition, the online had the phrase 'mud wrestling' in it."

"At least they didn't go with 'playing dirty', I thought they'd go in harder."

She shrugged. "It's easier with GOB driving the limo and Mom running for Congress, keeps them out of the spotlight."

"They really should have gone for 'playing dirty'." He muttered. "Ah well, that was our most successful sod turn yet."

"Have the plans been approved up for Bluthton?"

"Yes, can't have the model of the original version, because suspending a scale model would cost millions of dollars a year. The rest, we're just getting our lawyers to look over them."

"I thought Barry was busy with Pop-pop?"

"I brought back Bob Loblaw."

"Now that Mom is not around to try it on with him again?"

"Yeah." Michael looked to change the subject. "Also, she'd paid back part of the retainer we'd put him on through being his nanny, so we're currently in the black with him."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Maeby sat down, leaned back into the visitor chair. "Wow, I've almost got nothing to do."

"So quiet without the rest of the family about." Michael shook his head. "Oh, have you tried restricting our affairs to the oil rig yet? Pop-pop was sure they did that in the 70s."

"No, Bob couldn't find any record of that. Maybe Barry just told him he had? To do anything with the rig, we'd need to own the rig. Also, we can't afford to buy an oil rig. Also, we would have no idea how to run an oil rig."

"So they definitely don't do PO Boxes?"

Maeby sent him a sideways glance.

"Dad…again….It's only 6, are you free tonight? How about we grab some dinner?"

Maeby swiped her phone, "Sure, I'm free most nights."

They sat at their table at the spacious cream finished restaurant, a large round table dressed in white linen between them.

"Did you speak to George Michael?" Maeby replaced her glass on the table.

"Yeah, he said he and Rebel are engaged." Michael nodded.

_George Michael had seen his life flash before his eyes before, and not always in a good way, but when the opportunity came up, he didn't miss the train._

At the outdoor mall, a children's red train chugged past them. "Oh George, look at that gorgeous train!" Rebel had pointed to the train for toddlers.

"Did you want to ride it?" George Michael squeezed her hand.

"I can't do that."

"You should, you only live once."

As they climbed in behind other four and five year olds, a group of teens passed by, and started heckling and laughing_._

"Look at the Baby, there with your girlfriend!

"If you love her so much why don't you marry her?"

"Ignore them." George Michael said firmly. "This is only about you."

She had smiled, and had taken his hand. When the train started to move, she had continued, "When I was a little girl Dad would always bring me here, and we'd go on it. It was one of the few things he'd do with me when were out and about."

"Rebel, I think those kids were right."

"What?" She had demanded.

"You are such an amazing person, and I love you. Rebel, will you marry me!"

Rebel had smiled, and had squealed. "Yes!"

"Between you and me, I don't think you're missing much, she's kind of got a string of ex-lovers that the studio has to placate every so often, it's all a bit…" Maeby gestured in frustration. "Oh, cute flowers." She noticed a vase of orange lillies with black spots on a pedestal nearby.

"Maybe I dodged a Rebel." Michael considered.

She cringed. "You sure dodged something."

"Do you miss it? The studio?"

"I don't miss the Rebels, but I do miss selling millions of tickets to movies like 'the Oceanwalker'."

"Do you know anything about a poster George Michael had up in his room for a French film? I remember seeing it years ago. It started with an 'L'."

"No, I don't remember."

_She did remember. It was Les Cousins Dangeroux, a film about cousins having a relationship, of which her studio then did a remake. Badly._

"He was always so into that wood block of his, did he get that from you?"

Michael paused, before admitting, "Yeah, I sometimes break out the guitar."

"Really? I don't think I ever heard you on there."

_Michael sings offkey seated on a chair in his bedroom, strumming, then stopping. And strumming again_.

"Well we hadn't spent much time together before now." Michael noted.

"You always spent a lot of time at work, or with George Michael." Maeby mused.

"Yeah, I guess I had different priorities." His eyes drifted.

_And back into the priorities, Michael and Maeby continued construction on their terrainian marvel, Bluthton. Away and way from the original Bluth vision of a hovering city, but still with the skyhigh ambitions that had kept Bluth on the books as a 'don't' buy' from Mad Money._

Jim Cramer tented his fingers on the screen. "You know, these Bluths, run by that CEO that hasn't done much in ten years, and that CFO who is a breath of fresh air, and seems to blowing them in a direction! Good direction, I don't know, still got the SEC hovering around it, but I'm moving this company from a 'Don't Buy' to a, 'Would not buy', my highest rating yet!"

Standing in front of his office TV, Michael pumped his fists. "Hey Maeby! We're up from a 'Don't Buy' to a 'Would not buy'!"

"Wow." She wandered into his office. "Moving in the right direction."

"They mentioned you too, sad you were 'blowing the company in a direction'."

"Better to be blowing something I guess." She shrugged. "So are we on the Wagon or off it at the moment?"

"Jerry!" Michael shouted, then sat at his desk when the balding grey suited man appeared. "Are we on the Wagon or off it?"

"We're on at the moment, he's ignoring our pleas."

"We need to keep the company on track, this could derail us."

"Do you want to talk to…"

"No, Jerry, this is what I pay you for." Michael interjected.

"Show him how little these cases against the Bluth company have materialised over the years." Maeby instructed, "The government won't leave us alone. Counter him with harassment." She mused, "Maybe we need to do a PR campaign."

"Maybe not when your mother is running for Congress?" Michael cautioned.

"I'll…look into it." Jerry mumbled, leaving the chiefs.

"Why do you want to do a PR campaign?" Michael asked her directly.

In the boardroom full of old white men next to the screen, Maeby had used her laser pointer on the powerpoint projection, running through her mental script. "And we expect to double our revenue in the next two fiscal years."

"Are there any threats to the bottom line? Further litigation?" The youngest and least bald one had asked.

"The Bluth company have gone from a solid investment, to a far more solid investment. Solid as a rock."

_Like from building on wet sand, to building on dry sand. At least they'll be plumbed this time._

"Are you sure? The Bluth company has the highest number of citing's in pleadings of any Orange County company."

"There is no possibility we will come off the wagon. I give you my personal guarantee"

"I just think it's a good look." She dug the toe of her shoes into the carpet. "You know, all the appearance of a go-getting company selling to the broader population who sit around watching infomercials all day. And haven't the infomercials moved our stocks well? If we put our family out there more, the better things seem to get for the company."

_Perhaps at the best of times._

"Yeah, it's February 14 today, next one is next week." He recalled, spotting a staffer wandering past the door with a bunch of flowers in hand.

"I'll get into the network, maybe we can move ten next one?"

"That's if they can weed out the prank calls."

_Strangely enough, supporters of Sally Sitwell were calling up and promising to send cheques that never materialised. _

"Well, I've got nothing else on tonight, might as well get on it." She walked out the door.

At her desk, in a smaller office with a smaller window than Michael's, Maeby leaned on the armrest while continuing to talk on the desk phone. "Yes, an hour slot. No Iguana this time. No, same as before…"

A delivery man walked through her door with a bunch of tigerlillies in hand, and held out a clipboard.

She scrawled in the vague location of the signature area. "Yes, I'll hold." Putting the phone down, she searched through the flowers for the card, not finding one.

_Sending flowers on a busy Valentines day in Orange County can be a mixed blessing, especially when a delivery may not notice where he's waving one of his armfuls of flowers. _

The delivery man with the same tigerlillies had slammed his white van shut, and while reaching to grab the clipboard off the front seat, he propped the flowers upside down under his elbow, the as card had floated face down to the bitumen.

Michael walks into Maeby's office, now lit with her desk lamp. "How's it going?"

"Good, you won't believe it, I got flowers from a secret admirer."

"Really?"

"Yeah, no card. Probably from some actor or something."

_Most actors would go for the classical bunch of roses, in fact an online poll registered the red rose as the bribe of choice for casting directors. Tigerlillies would be an imaginative decision._

"They're nice. Did the network say we were locked in?"

"Yeah I said lock it in, Eddie."

"You know what they say about TV, TV is where its at for who wants to be a millionaire."

"I was such a sucker sticking with the movies idea for so long." She shook her head.

_As were we. But speaking of communication, Michael was getting some interesting phone calls the next day._

At his desk, the warm daylight streamed in through the blinds of his office. "Yes, I got the call from Lindsay earlier. How much do you need? Sorry, the company doesn't have that kinda money just lying around at the moment. No, really. No, we really can't spare the money. Dad, I just can't give you that kinda money." Michael's voice boomed louder and louder.

Maeby strode in. "What does he want?"

He put his hand over the receiver. "Four million."

Maeby's mouth fell open. "Uh, no. No way. Maybe $40k? that's the most we can get back in tax this year."

Michael returned to the phone. "So Maeby is saying $40k. That's all we can give you. Well, fine then. Goodbye."

"Is it for mom?"

"Yeah. She needs TV advertising."

_She needed more than that to counter the cashed-up Sitwell with award winning hair, but far be it from her to take the advice of anyone but herself._

"We can't help."

"I just…You know, we spend hours here to rebuild this and not screw it up this time, and they just want to cash in like we're a bank." He kicked his desk. "Well, no-more. I'm done with the rest of them riding our hard work." He pointed towards Maeby. "Don't give them a cent."

"I'll make sure we don't." She walked out, reappearing shortly later with a bottle of whisky in hand and a glass a third full, handing it to Michael. "Here. But don't go all Ganki on me."

He smiled at her, touching her forearm as he took the glass from her. "Thanks." Michael's desk phone rang again. "Excuse me." He picked up. "Yep. Oh, no we're not quite sure, there are pending charges."

Maeby turned on her heels and attempted to disappear without Michael seeing her, without success, him noticing her scurrying away.

"Yeah, I understand. Give me a moment." He hung up the phone. "Maeby!"

She reappeared. "Yeah?"

"What did you tell the Nevada investors?"

"Uhhh…"

"They seem to think either we are immune to litigation, or we've taken a personal guarantee about this."

"Yeah."

"Maeby, you're the CFO." He leaned into her. "If the board knew," he whispered, "they'd put back on all those conditions we convinced them to relax. The wheels would come off."

Maeby paused, realising how close they were standing, smelling the whisky on his breath. "I'm…sorry."

"Just be honest with me, okay?"

He then embraced her, stepped back and inhaled to compose himself.

_But the Wagon was in motion, and in fact in train. But not with who Michael thought._

In the grey and muted prosecutors' office, Maeby sat opposite Wagon in the conference room.

"Mr Bluth." The narrow-featured Denis Wagon scanned the front page of his brief. "I have forty-eight complaints against your company."

"Yes, we still haven't heard a single name of these complainants." Michael responded.

Maeby ambled towards the drinks table, which was on the prosecutor's side of the table, taking a slight detour.

"They're names are not important."

She scanned it just in time before he slammed his file shut. "Hey, most of these are Sitwells!"

Indeed they were, because as Sitwell was trying to sabotage the Bluth campaign, to sabotage what was believed to be the primary source of Bluth company's fundraising went hand in hand. Michael was aghast.

"You can't be serious."

Wagon stood up. "That, is grounds, for contempt." He shook his pen in Maeby's face.

"You and what train? Your gaggle of complainants is our political opponents!"

"Did you want to ride it?" Wagon inched into her space.

"I can't do that."

Wagon inhaled, in the most creepy way possible. "You should, you only live once."

Michael's eyes widened.

"You know what, this company is picking up steam as I am blowing it in the right direction, I won't have you ruin this for me!" She narrowed her eyes.

"Okay okay, I think we're done for today." Michael placed his hands either side of Maeby's arms, gesturing for them to leave.

_Michael was again, aghast. _

"Can you believe that guy?" He walked down the building's front stone steps.

"Well, I could have gone with it…" She considered, "w[beep]ed myself out, but that's more my mother's thing."

"Yeap."

Michael let that one go through to the keeper. His job was to make dozens of homes keepers, for the thousands of Americans who had enough time to watch infomercials and afford a house in a part of Orange County shared by cactuses.

On the infomercial set, Michael gestured to the model of the model home. "And what is it today that we could be missing out on, Maeby?"

"Certainly not air conditioning, because…"

Michael cleared his throat.

_Air conditioning was the first thing to go when they had to cut corners, not something you'd want to draw attention to for houses virtually built in the desert._

"it's a highly overrated thing, especially with this quality of heating!"

Micahel again cleared his throat.

"The windows are top notch!"

"Yes, that weatherproofing will go you many, many seasons."

Maeby cleared her throat.

"And comes with so many extras! Full furnished!" Michael added. "With all the quality furniture, you'll be very comfortable."

"Summer or winter!" Maeby added brightly.

_As the new owners of the houses might feel to go like a goose and migrate for the seasons, Michael was in for more heat. _

Michael took anther call in his office. "No, the company can't do that. No, it's not possible. Yes, I have the cheque book. Okay. Okay. Bye." He slammed the phone down, with Maeby having joined him amid the shouting.

"They're asking again?"

"Can you please conduct a thorough financial audit, and just see what exactly our expenses are." Michael mused.

"I'm already working on that, but there's a bunch of shelf companies, Pop-pop had it layered up pretty good."

"Not surprised. Can you have one done by Friday week?"

"The next board meeting? Yes."

_If she had started. It was going to be a long week for Maeby, especially because she was right about George Senior's handiwork. But fuel was on its way._

Michael walked through the door, finding an exhausted Maeby consuming a Snickers bar.

"Yum, but you shouldn't be working off sugar."

"I don't think there's much sugar in these, it's not from Mexico."

"Well don't burn out, you're not you when you're hungry."

Maeby grimaced, and kept scribbling away.

And as the hours slipped away, Maeby's hand slipped off her arms, and onto her cold desk. But she wouldn't be awoken by exhaustion.

"Yoo hoo." The delivery man knocked on her door frame. "Delivery for Maeby?"

She awoke to find a man standing there with a box of Snickers. "Oh, fuel." She turned the box around. "Mexican snickers." She scrawled on his clip board and he left.

Michael walked around him through the door. "You didn't sleep here last night did you?"

"What does it look like?" Her hair looked like a birds nest, eyes sunken in her head.

"Nice looking candy there." Michael commented. "No note?"

"No, the secret admirer strikes again." She shrugged. "Must be someone here, because how would they know to send it today?"

_Much like the wrapper of her American snickers on the ground, George and Lucille would not be left stranded without their candy._

Michael stood in the position closest to the door, arms folded. His sister and mother sat on the sofa, brother Buster on the other chair, his father standing near the window, and son and fiancée on the other side near the master bedroom wall.

"You don't have the power to cut off the salaries." Lucille skulled and stamped her martini down on the side table.

"They're not salaries. They're stipends. For work. You," Michael gestured, "are all consultants, which means I have complete hiring and firing power."

"We're family." Lucille shot.

"Michael, this company was set up to look after the Bluth family." George ventured.

"That was while you all owned a piece, but all of you, bar me and Maeby, have sold your pieces off. Which are now my pieces." He gazed down at the coffee table, seeing Trivial Pursuit set up. "Why were you playing that?"

"Oh, Dad thought it was a good idea I bone up on my general knowledge, nothing like Trivial Pursuit to help you learn broad knowledge." Lindsay beamed.

"Come on, Michael." Buster shook his head. "Admit it, you're too chicken to try to manage this company without us."

He then proceeded to stand up and flap his arms, and the rest of the children joined in their various versions of the chicken dance, arms flopping and wiggling, legs waggling, in all sorts of ways.

"No, I'm really not. It will really happen. Next Friday."

"Michael, you can't do this to this family." Lucille pleaded.

Maeby entered the fray, closing the door behind her, brushing hands with Michael as she stood beside him.

"When Maeby came to me asking for money, you know what I said? I said that train has departed, that wagon has moved on, if you want my candy, you have to earn it." Michael pulled Maeby in closer, his hand around her shoulder.

"This is just because you're not getting any." Lucille shook her head.

Michael's hands slipped from gripping the top of Maeby's shoulder, down slightly.

George Michael shifted uneasily away from Rebel, his eyes tracking his fathers hands.

"I can't believe this, Maeby and I have a solid partnership in fixing this company. We have gotten it back on track." Michael's arm hung uneasily around her neck. "And none of you, are getting to continue to behave as hangers-on." He yanked his arm sidewards, pulling Maeby towards him, and tripping on top of her.

"Doing more mud wrestling are you?" Lucille spat. "Well get ready, son, because we'll be down and in the dirty with you."

George Michael looked on in shock.

"Okay, okay." Michael clambered up from their feet. "We'll see you at the meeting."

In the hallway, Michael remarked, "You do know that you're getting a 50% pay increase next week? Because we can afford to pay our employees, now we're not paying the "employees"."

"Really?"

_It was the easiest money Maeby had ever made, and she wondered why she hadn't conned her way into this job before._

"Yeah, I think that went well as it could."

"That newspaper must have had a wide circulation if they saw it."

"Yeah, we gotta be more careful next time." Michael patted her opposite shoulder.

_And as he reassured Maeby, they again found themselves in the dirt._

Michael trips and falls on top of her.

_But there was to be no more lowering of principles at this meeting, and it was all to be going full steam._

The board were seated with their executives in the board room.

"I am proposing for the board to formally remove sections of the constitution all references to George Senior Bluth and Lucille Bluth, as they both are no longer employed by this company, and to remove all of their access to the company bank accounts."

Maeby tilted her head back, sinking back into the padded chair.

_Maeby wore her nicest smart black suit to the funeral of her parent's sponging off her own work. Michael, for his part, look similarly smart, and dressed to kill a stipend. But the birds had flown back to the nest of money to roost._

Lucille and George Senior rushed from the elevator, her feather coat being caught in the air as if she were to take off.

George Senior and Lucille burst into the conference room, finding a table of party food for the post-meeting festivities.

"You get away from this table, we built this company!" Lucille shrieked, her arms flying towards Michael.

He threw his arms back, pushing himself against the wall. "Can we have a minute, board?" He pleaded with the room. The group murmured among themselves, one saying "the old Bluths are back", while filing out.

"Mom, I have tried reasoning with you, none of you want to work…"

"I built this whole company!" George Senior insisted. "All it did was sell cornballers!"

The crowd had cowered in horror as George Senior splashes Richard Simmons with burning hot oil in the TV studio.

_And only in Mexico. Through selected dealers. _

"Dad, we have sold more houses in a month, than you sold in five years. They say Rome wasn't built in a day, but at that rate, we never would have built a suburb of Rome." Michael placed his hands on his hips.

"Yes, but I was building houses for Saddam, I divested the market exposure to this company, moved the risk."

"Moved the risk where? To the company?"

_Michael was only partly right. The rest of the risk lay personally with the head of the company, which was…Michael Bluth. _

"This company has always been there for the family." George Senior reached out for Michael, whispering, "And it needs to give back. Your sister needs TV advertising, and money for the launch of her integrated parents initiative, I can help you shift the money out of there."

"Maeby has been through your structure." He whispered loudly back.

"Deconstructed layer cake?" Maeby offered Ganki and Pop-pop generous helpings.

Lucille sent her the dirtiest look she had ever mustered, sticking her feathery arms in the air. "I am proud of this company and your father, proud as a peacock. You Michael," she stormed up to him, "You always claimed you were here for this family. You always said we need to stick together. And where are you now, in our hour of need?"

"I'm not buying into this." Michael shook his head.

"Maeby? You'll let your mother be without money to help improve parenting through schools?" Lucille queried.

_It's a shame they hadn't launched the program when Maeby was young, because she really could have used the parenting._

Maeby didn't dignify the request with a response.

"This is the funeral of the Bluth company!" George Senior admonished.

Michael and Maeby stared back in their black suits and white shirts.

"Look, if you or the rest want to come work for the company, and put in, then come see me again. Otherwise, I'll wait to hear from you." Michael retorted.

"Bagel crisps with Pâté?" Maeby offered the plate to her Pop-pop and Ganki, receiving again dirty looks.

"We're not leaving." Lucille insisted.

"Security!" Michael called down the hall. Two beefy guys appeared.

"Oh look its hot cop…" George Senior was cut off by the muscly man dragging him from the room, Lucille hauled by the other man.

"Just hold them there…can the board resume its seats?" Michael called. When everyone was seated, Michael locked the doors and called, "all good, guys."

"You can't do this." George Senior bashed on the locked door from the outside.

"Michael! You get out here now!" Shouted Lucille.

"So regarding formally removing sections of the constitution all references to George Senior Bluth and Lucille Bluth, all in favour?"

The entire table raised its hands.

"All against?"

All of a sudden it rained pennies from the ceiling, left over from GOB's time in management.

"Motion passed. And let me assure you all, that's the last time our profit will come down in pennies."

The board chortled.

George Senior sighed in the hallway. "Well, might as well fly north."

"Don't you mean south? To Boca?" Lucille tossed her head up, the feather coat she was wearing shifting around.

"Yeah, yeah." George Senior's eyes deflected. "That's what I meant."

_The gander departed with little protest, and most of the feathers intact._

A trail of feathers lead from the boardroom to the elevator, made by the two with their heads bowed and arms hanging loose before them.

"Our final business for today, approving final funding for Bluthton." Michael widened his palms, resuming his chair. "This is to proceed with the full construction, to fill every lot and fully furnish. We need to take further development money from our Nevada investors," He sent Maeby a cautious look, "But they are happy with their current returns, and our auditors have advised us we should see a profit increase this year."

_Earlier that day, in fact. Which had made Mad Money, even slightly madder. In the excited sense._

Jim Cramer filled the screen, "I'm upgrading Bluth, you better believe it, to a 'cautious buy'! The Bluths are finally coming through!"

_Which helped Michael convince the staff to not unlock the doors for his parents._

"Come on, I was your bosss ten years ago?" George Senior pleaded with the woman from the outside of the building.

"You fired me!" The woman glared.

"Well, you were stealing office supplies."

"I took home one paperclip which was stuck to my handbag."

George Senior averted his gaze, "You always had bad hair."

"So, we will go to a vote now?" Michael asked the group. "All those in favour?"

The entire table raised its hands.

"Unanimous. Thank you all."

The board erupted in applause, and Michael and Maeby hugged. "What a fantastic day for the Bluths."

Lucille and George approached their car in the lot below.

"You got the keys?" George asked.

Lucille riffled through her handbag. "I thought you did."

_In fact, the boardroom floor had their keys. It was not going to be a good weekend for either of them_.

_But it would be an interesting one for Michael and Maeby, who were off to a housing conference in Phoenix to brag about selling houses through infomercials._

"So I sold ten in one day, through the power of hypnosis!" one convener had bragged.

"You too can improve your clearance rates through accepting Bitcoin!" another had bragged.

_This may not have been the most prestigious event of its type._

"We're back in Phoenix! Are you excited?" Maeby stirred, dragging her wheelie bag behind her in the daggy hotel lobby.

"Why would I be?" Michael tried to hose her down.

"You always went on about leaving for here with George Michael, every time Michael Bluth was leaving, he was off to Phoenix."

"And why are you talking about me in the third person?"

"Because it's funny. You were never gonna leave."

"I was too!" Michael took umbrage. "I was serious at least…some of those times."

"Nah, you never would have. Not until now."

"Why now?"

"You aren't putting them first now."

Michael stopped at the reservation desk. "Maybe." He dinged the bell on the desk. "Two rooms under Bluth?"

The surely woman scanned her computer. "You mean one room? For two?"

"No, I asked for two rooms?"

_Michael had a new PA. She wasn't very good. At anything. In fact, even Tobias would have made a better PA._

As the staff member attempted to enter Michael's office, "You get the hell outta here!" Tobias had thrown a chair in his direction.

Balancing the phone on her shoulder, the PA had filed her nails. "I need to book for two. For Bluth."

"Two rooms or a room for two?" the voice over the phone had queried.

"I dunno, whatever is easier. Just charge whoever shows up." The woman checked her phone. "Ah, lunch time."

"Well the order was for two for Bluth, so we have you in one room, sir." The receptionist insisted.

"Can we get a second room then?"

"We're all booked out, Sir." The woman rolled the final 'r' sound.

_But there was another surprise. Which probably shouldn't come as a surprise._

Michael drops his bag in the doorway of their room, Maeby behind him. "There's one bed?"

Back at the reception desk, the hodgepodge crowd hobnobbed around nearby while Michael tried to get some answers.

"I'm sorry, Sir." The receptionist replied unapologetically. "There's no spare beds this weekend due to the conference. I'll have them send up a complimentary welcome pack. Sir."

Michael furrowed his brow. "But that's complimentary."

"Only to special guests, Sir."

"Why is it a 'complimentary welcome pack' then?"

"I don't name things, Sir."

_So Michael and Maeby returned to their shared room with its shared bed._

Michael laid his bag on the ground. "Is this going to work? I mean, one of us could sleep on the floor…"

"Michael, we're speaking tomorrow, we can't be bunking on the floor, we'll just have to do the whole 'bunking cousins' thing."

"Because that's a thing. You're right, we've got 20 minutes to be out on the floor, mingling."

_And 25 to be on stage presenting. Because this highly prestigious conference had not sent the Bluths the running sheet, so neither of them knew they had been brought forward by a day._

In the 90s foyer, a woman with a clipboard approached them. "Michael, Maeby, you're up next."

"Wait, what?" Michael was beside himself.

"Michael, we'll be fine, just follow my lead." Maeby whispered and patted him on the back.

"Did you know about this?" Michael demanded as they rushed towards the stage.

"Of course not. But this hotel f[beep]ed up our booking, is it a stretch to think they'd do a f[beep]ed up job with the conference?"

"Maeby, you're in a room of our peers who may be able to hear you."

"Sorry, language was the first thing to go when the set got stressed."

_It was._

Andy Richter had hurled his Donut against the wall of the small trailer. "What the f[beep] is this? S[beep] f[beep]ing quality crap? Is anyone f[beep] f[beep]?"

"Andy, Andy, we'll get you a f[beep]ing cruller, with f[beep]ing custard, just get the f[beep]ing piece costume back on." Maeby had placated.

"I don't know why I agreed to do a movie about Trivial Pursuit."

"The 80s is f[beep] in remember? This will help you beat those f[beep] f[beep] f[beeping]ing s[beeps]."

"F[beep]."

From the stage lined in black fabric with a white spotlight, the compare announced, "And next we have the Californian company who turned around their profits in a month using the power of infomercials. Give it up for the Bluth Company's Michael Bluth and Maeby Bluth!"

Michael winced with the supposedly incorrect name.

"Hi everyone, I'm Michael, CEO, and this is Maeby, CFO, and we have turned around the Bluth Company in a bit over six short weeks."

"We have used the power of the infomercial to draw attention to our product offerings, highlight our competitive advantage, and signpost our expansionary and synergism intentions to our customers."

_This may have sounded a bit familiar to some in the audience, as it was the same spiel she had used dozens of times with investors._

"…and signpost our expansionary and synergism intentions to our customers." She had used the laser pointer against the whiteboard in the dour boardroom.

"And using these strategies, we have found a doubling of profits across a single month. If we look at those trends, that means a…"

"That means we intend to build on our profits going into the future." Michael interrupted her.

_The SEC were almost certainly in the room, and the wheels would fall off if Maeby gave clear indications to the market in a public space._

"But back on the power of the infomercial, can you run the room through what inspired you to suggest them, Maeby?"

"Absolutely, for many…"

_This back and forth went on for another half hour, until there was time for questions._

The crowd finished their applause of the pair, who had their arms around each others shoulders.

"Michael and Maeby, I've been trying to build a family business for years, I have siblings that won't work but want to cash in, parents who keep interfering, and issues with regulators. Do you think your marriage is the secret to the success of your business?"

"First of all, Maeby isn't a Bluth, her name is Fünke," Michael insisted.

_Actually, her name is Bluth._

George Michael had unfolded his marriage certificate to her, mailed from the state of California.

_Because she is married to a Bluth, just not the one on stage with her. And the conference had used legal names. _

"And secondly, you'll need to look at restructuring your business, and discussing how your family can contribute."

_Or you could go the more direct route, as Michael actually did. When the business executives were done for their hour, they returned to the foyer._

"I'm gonna see if our welcome pack has arrived." Michael headed towards the elevator.

"I'll see you up there."

_Just then Maeby's actual husband called, amid setting up for his engagement party._

George Michael stood in the airport hanger of an office, holding the phone to his ear. "Hey, Maeby, how are things?"

"Oh, you know, hot, but not wet or steamy."

"Really?"

"I'm in Phoenix with Michael."

"Speaking of dad, how did the meeting go?"

"Ganki and Pop-pop aren't on the payroll anymore." Maeby said flatly.

"What are you doing in Phoenix?"

"Just a conference. You would not believe it, they stuck us in the same room, with one bed."

"Oh. And they can't fix it?"

"Comically, apparently not."

"Right. I better go."

"Hey good luck with the engagement party."

"Thanks." He mumbled. He then dialled again.

Michael answered his phone, coming through the hotel room door. "Hey son, how are you? Sorry I can't be there tonight."

"That's fine. You and Maeby having a good time?"

"Yeah, they've put us in this really spacious room with a balcony."

"One room?"

"Yeah. Mix up. We were supposed to get two."

"Huh, how about that."

_Michael Bluth had usually told his son when something had bothered him, with not much prying. Usually too much information._

At the model home, Michael had grimaced. "George Michael, I'm sure that Egg is a very nice person, I just don't want you spendin' all your money gettin' her all glittered up for Easter, you know? I don't think you're ready." He had laid his hand on George Michael's shoulder.

From his hospital bed, Michael had tried to lean up. "I told Lindsay not to teach him, I was going to video tape that hop-on…I was going to teach you, you know that. Just forget everything she taught you and we'll start over."

"Yeah." Michael left hanging.

"I'll leave you to it."

"Thanks, and good luck with tonight! I know you two are made for each other."

George Michael felt like his father had returned the slug, to the gut. "Thanks."

_Back at the hotel room, Michael had found his welcome pack. Full of spa vouchers, massage for two, and a Bluth favourite…_

"…body chocolate." Michael read the label.

…_just as Maeby had returned from returned from wagon wheels._

In a side room of the conference centre, Maeby had held court with the charming character that was Dennis Wagon. "Maeby. Still talking up those infomercials I see."

"Yes. Haven't the charges been dropped yet? Or are you awaiting further depositions from Sitwells?" She had retorted.

"Maybe we could talk about this in your room."

"Maybe you could talk about this with Bob Loblaw." She had passed him a card.

"I don't have time for Bob Loblaw! You Bluths keep coming up again and again, we could fix things today." He had looked her up and down. "Without the use of the wheel. Because I will have you, Maeby."

"Oh my God, no." She had ditched her coffee on a refreshments table.

Maeby shut the room door behind her. "Oh, a massage and a spa, just what I need." She went into her suitcase, pulling out something, and returned from the bathroom in a string bikini. "You wanna come?"

"Yep."

_Michael and Maeby enjoyed the bubbles, with the complimentary bubbly, in the heart shaped tub. This shape was due to the logo of the hotel being a heart. Unfortunately, with the multiple mergers and a messy family split with the Hatecher family, the original 'Loveheart' name of the hotel had given way to a compromise. _

"I can't say that the Hatelove Hotel has been the best experience, but this sure beats boardroom meetings." Michael mused.

"The goose liver pate was pretty good though."

"You were really good today, you did like 90% of the work up there."

"Ten years in showbiz has to count for something."

"No, I don't know what I'd have done without you." His hand travelled up her shoulder.

Maeby smilled. "Well, I don't know if I could have quite told Ganki and Pop-pop so clearly they couldn't keep writing cheques from the company accounts."

"A guy has gotta be useful for something." He winked at her.

"I'd so love to watch Walls Street tonight, so gritty."

_But all good spa's must come to an end. _

"Michael and Maeby Bluth, please return to the conference hall." The PA boomed distortedly into the room.

"I have gotta get on top of that Maeby Bluth…" Michael mumbled, pulling himself out of the tub.

_And as the pair sought to return, they once again got themselves caught in a further entanglement_.

Back in the hotel room, Michael tripped forward onto the bed, and they found themselves wrapped around each other, nose to nose, still in swimwear. Not saying a word for what seemed like eternity, but was more like half a minute.

"You have really blue eyes." Maeby remarked quietly.

"I don't know how many freckles you have on your face, but so far I've counted 128."

"I hate them."

"I think they're cute."

"Michael and Maeby Bluth, please come in the conference hall."

"We better get onto that." Michael pondered.

As they returned to the hall, applause broke out. "Here they are, the Bluths, who have achieved from Mad Money's 'don't buy' to a 'Buy' in five short weeks! And are in construction of a groundbreaking new development, 'Bluthton'. Please welcome to the stage our winner of the Californian Achievers Award!"

As _Phantom Planet's California_ blasted through the hall, Michael subconsciously took her wrist as they powered towards the stage.

"Thank you. Thank you everyone." Michael blathered, "They say Rome wasn't built in a day, with Maeby, we almost have. Thank you everyone. Do you have anything to add?" He stepped aside from the microphone.

"Michael Bluth has tried all kinds of stuff throughout the years to make this company great. Finally, he did the one thing that could only have worked – he shed himself of the interference that has plagued it for decades. Now, we are the strongest we have ever been. Thank you."

Michael took her hand and lifted it high in the air, the other holding up the award. They left the stage to the chorus of _California_.

_Back in the room, the winners were grinners._

"I didn't know conferences gave out awards?" Maeby settled onto the bed.

"This place is full of surprises." Michael remarked, heading to answer the knock on the door. "It's for you?"

"Delivery for Maeby Fünke?" He held out the clipboard.

Tearing it open, she found a DVD of the 1980s film, Walls Street.

"Another delivery from the mystery admirer." She flipped over the package. "Wait, no, this has your name on it?"

"Oh." Michael looked uncomfortable, "This is why I never moved to Phoenix…"

"No, you never moved here because it's hot and the rest of the family wasn't here." She stepped towards him. "You sent me all of that stuff, didn't you?"

Michael looked sheepish. "Yeah, I did. You didn't seem to have a date for Valentine's Day, and you look liked you needed your favourite candy."

Maeby beamed. "It's very sweet." She picked up from the bed, "Body chocolate?"

"Maybe."

_Back in the actual California, George Michael phoned in the engagement party, feeling like he was experiencing de ja vu._

The room was full of movie types in hipster clothing. In the background, _My Love _by _JT_ was buzzing the room.

"You're so lucky, she's such a lovely woman." The studio exec lifted the Champaign flute.

"Yeah, she was very talented." George Michael concurred.

"What do you mean, she's still working there?" she gestured to Rebel.

"Her?" George Michael returned to reality. "Oh of course, I meant she'd just taken a break. For Lem."

"Of course, she always does that…"

George Michael's phone sounded, and looking he found a picture of the body chocolate.

'Haha, what were they thinking – Maeby'

_And the rest was a blur._

In the dead of night, George Michael stood outside on the balcony, a bottle against the glass and half empty glass in hand with brown liquor.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"I will soon." He called back.

He took another slip, shifting around.

_The hours slipped away, as did most of the bottle, and he found himself achieving a Bluth milestone, getting drunk in the dark._

George Michael leaned into the couch, staring into space in the unlit room. Later, his head dropped to one side, and he fell asleep, the bottle in his hand.

_From Midnight in Balboa Bay, it struck eleven in Phoenix, the two finished the cheap Champaign in the basket, on the balcony of their large room with the single bed._

"I can safely say, Rome wasn't built in a day, but we've done our best." Michael filled the glass.

"I don't think there's anyone down there that has matched us." Maeby took a flute.

"No, but it's an interesting conference."

"That would be an understatement."

"Oh, an email from the SEC. The charges have been dropped. It's the end of the Wagon ride."

"I wonder why."

_Maeby had hit record on her phone when the last tirade had come from Wagon, and then emailed it to the SEC. Which had helped them make a decision._

"We've gotta stop employing single men in their 40s." The director had bemoaned from across his desk.

"Who else would work for us?" The thin male with rounded glasses had queried.

_Who indeed._

"Why didn't you ever get involved before?" Michael asked.

"The management of this company…just infighting between you and the family. Not worth it."

"Well I'm glad you accepted my offer."

She smiled.

"I've been meaning to ask you…I haven't kept you away from anyone, have I?" Michael repositioned against the balcony.

"No, I should probably tell you…I'm a registered sex offender."

"How?"

"I had sex with a seventeen year old."

"Huh." Michael shook his head. "There's so much I don't know about you."

"Not really. I'm married to George Michael though. For eight years."

"How?"

"Mock wedding, apparently you signed the certificate?"

"Wow."

"Yeap."

"I wonder who forged my signature that time, just confirms why I don't care about the family anymore… And apart from that, I don't know why you're single. You're gorgeous, feisty, intelligent…"

"You know, you're the first guy who's said anything like that in years."

Michael had nothing to say back, as his eyes did the talking for him, as fireworks broke out in the distance, reds, pinks, and whites.

Maeby leaned up to meet his semi-parted lips, softly kissing them, then pulling away to see the rawness in his eyes. His palms slid over her from front to back, moaning into her mouth, her arms wrapping around his head, pulling him closer. They continued to embrace, the fireworks climaxing with a heart.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael tries to fire his incompetent PA gently,_

The woman looks up to see a delivery man with a bunch of daisies. "Ugh, a signature." She scrawls on his clipboard and looks in the bouquet for the sender. "That secret admirer again? Oh well, eleven, lunch time."

_But is thwarted by the same flower delivery man again._

The delivery man's wheel screech forward, causing the flower card to flip over.

'Sorry about the loss of your job. Regards, Michael Bluth.'


	2. Spanish Fever

Michael slipped his hands underneath Maeby, lifting her legs and back up, not breaking off the kiss, closing the door behind him. He carried her back into their room, laying her on the bed, undoing her buttons. Her hands found his buckle, pulling his pants down. He pulled off her shirt, climbing onto the bed in his boxers. Her eyes sparkled, and she giggled as he kissed her neck, and down her chest, unhooking her bra with minimal effort.

"You know, I've been dying to know what's beneath those shirts of yours." He whispered.

She reached up, unbuttoning his, revealing his toned chest. "I hope you're as impressed as I am." She grinned.

His hands took her round, firm breasts, massaging them, and he moaned as much as she did through deep kisses. One hand freed itself and slipped downward over her toned young skin, finding her skirt zip, and her underwear, and then what was beneath them. She moaned deeper, her back arching, as his hand slipped further. "Oh Michael, Michael, Michael…"

He felt her shiver in his arms, and when she had stopped, slowly a look of deep pleasure crept across her face.

"Maeby, do you want me to go on?" he brushed the hair from her face.

She looked deep into his blue eyes, "did you finger bang me so I'd say yes?"

"Well, um…" He mumbled.

She smiled cheekily, and pushed him over onto his back, slipping off the rest of her clothes, and his underwear. He inhaled sharply, feeling her handling him. She then climbed on top of him, moaning as he went deeper.

Michael couldn't stop grinning from the ecstasy of the sensations from being inside her, and then watching her generous breasts jiggle in front of him, up, and down, over and over again, and the expressions on her face while being so intimate with her. He reached around, groping her and gripping her waist. His breathing slowed, trying desperately to keep the momentum and moment going on forever.

Maeby enjoyed the waves of pleasure washing through her, and sitting atop of the toned but mature man, her fingers tracing his six-pack and pecks. However, she started to perspire, having never gone for so long, the beads of sweat running down her chin and onto her soft round breasts and nipples, which only sought to prolong Michael, desiring her even more. But her breath started to become laboured.

Michael rolled on top, grinding into her, exchanging tongues with her deeper and deeper, moaning harder and harder, until he was unable to keep kissing and moaning. He watched her expressions change from ecstasy to effort, and back.

Maeby enjoyed looking deep in Michael's eyes as he continued, and trace the lines of maturity on his face, having never felt so close to anyone while making love.

Eventually, she felt a wave of joy wash over her, and shortly after, Michael did too.

"Wow." She panted. "Do all men your age last that long?"

Michael smiled mischievously. "I'm just talented." He ran a line of kisses down her chest, and found himself, and his tongue, below her belly button.

"Oh my gosh!" She gasped, and then proceeded to moan, the faster his tongue moved, pulling her towards her peak again. When her moans had reached their highest point, he entered her again, taking her nipples in turn in his mouth.

Her nails travelled down his rippled back, digging in as the pleasure surged through her body.

The feeling of her grip send him wild, driving himself deeper inside of her. He felt her breath deepening as she adjusted to his rhythm. He carried her underneath to the wall, pressing her against it, continuing until both of them finished. He let go of her, and she sunk to the floor.

She looked up and beamed, starting to suck.

He had to steady himself, not expecting her tongue to be so inquisitive, running the length and teasing the tip.

"Oh Maeby, Oh…Oh…"

He felt the dirty fantasies he'd quickly repressed in the past resurfacing in his mind, Maeby sucking him off in his desk chair, making love to her in a sea of the contracts to Bluthton on his desk, her coming into work with nothing under a skirt and him fingering her in the copy room.

The longer Maeby's tongue travelled, the more he longed to release, and he found it much harder than before, until he had surged.

She smiled at him, as she stood up, and he lay deep kisses into her mouth. "I want to go deeper…" He murmured.

"How?"

He turned her around by the waist, gently pushed her down into the bed, kissing down her spine, and took a deep breath as he pushed the full length into her. His hands went down, rubbing between her thighs, causing her to curve upwards. He went in further, until he felt himself fully engorged, having never felt such desire. The curves of her back and the mop of her hair bounced from his actions, and she continued to moan. He kept pacing himself to go on further and longer than before, focusing hard than he ever had.

Maeby enjoyed the sensations he kept projecting inside her, driving up her spine, wave after wave.

When Michael could hold no longer, he had a huge release, the feelings flooding his body, his fingers speeding up. She moaned deeply, but she hadn't quivered the entire time. Michael kneeled down on the bed, his tongue looking for the tiny spot that would make her scream.

She then made a noise that would have woken Canada, then flopped into the comforter.

Michael slipped his hands underneath Maeby, lifting her legs and back up, not breaking off the kiss. He walked through the room door, sliding it closed behind him, and back into their room, laying her on the bed. He started undoing her buttons. Her hands found his buckle, pulling his pants down. He pulled off her shirt, climbing onto the bed in his boxers. Her eyes sparkled, and she giggled as he kissed her neck, and down her chest, unhooking her bra with minimal effort.

"You know, I've been dying to know what's beneath those shirts of yours." He whispered.

She reached up, unbuttoning his, revealing his toned chest. "I hope you're as impressed as I am." She grinned.

His hands found her lumps beneath her bodice, massaging them, and he moaned as much as she did through deep kisses. One hand freed itself and slipped downward over her toned young skin, finding what was beneath her layers. She moaned deeper, her back arching, as his hand slipped further. "Oh Michael, Michael, Michael…"

He felt her shiver in his arms, and when she had stopped, slowly a look of deep pleasure crept across her face.

"Maeby, do you want me to go on?" he brushed the hair from her face.

She looked deep into his blue eyes, "did you finger bang me so I'd say yes?"

"Well, um…" He mumbled.

She smiled cheekily, and pushed him over onto his back, slipping off the rest of her clothes, and his boxers. He inhaled sharply, feeling her handling him. She then climbed on top, moaning as he went deeper.

Michael couldn't stop grinning from the ecstasy of the sensations from being inside her, and then watching her jiggle in front of him, up, and down, over and over again, and the expressions on her face while being so intimate with her. He reached around, groping her and gripping her waist. His breathing slowed, trying desperately to keep the momentum and moment going on forever.

Maeby enjoyed the waves of pleasure washing through her, and sitting atop of the toned but mature man, her fingers tracing his six-pack and pecks. However, she started to perspire, having never gone for so long, the beads of sweat running down her chin, neck, bodice and its tips, which only sought to prolong Michael, desiring her even more. But her breath started to become laboured.

Michael rolled on top, grinding into her, exchanging tongues with her deeper and deeper, moaning harder and harder, until he was unable to keep kissing and moaning. He watched her expressions change from ecstasy to effort, and back.

Maeby enjoyed looking deep in Michael's eyes as he continued, and trace the lines of maturity on his face, having never felt so close to anyone while making love.

Eventually, she felt a wave of joy wash over her, and shortly after, Michael did too.

"Wow." She panted. "Do all men your age last that long?"

Michael smiled mischievously. "I'm just talented." He ran a line of kisses down her chest, and found himself, and his tongue, below her belly button.

"Oh my gosh!" She gasped, and then proceeded to moan, the faster his tongue moved, pulling her towards her peak again. When her moans had finished at their their highest point, he entered her again, alternating sucking each of her pink tips in his mouth.

Her nails travelled down his rippled back, digging in as the pleasure surged through her body, her voice getting louder with each dig.

The feeling of her grip send him wild, driving himself deeper inside of her. He felt her breath deepening as she adjusted to his rhythm. He carried her underneath to the wall, pressing her against it, continuing until both of them finished. He let go of her, and she sunk to the floor.

She looked up and beamed, starting to suck.

He had to steady himself, not expecting her tongue to be so inquisitive, running the length and teasing the tip.

"Oh Maeby, Oh…Oh…"

He felt the dirty fantasies he'd quickly repressed in the past resurfacing in his mind, Maeby sucking him off in his desk chair, making love to her in a sea of the contracts to Bluthton on his desk, her coming into work with nothing under a skirt and him fingering her in the copy room.

The longer Maeby's tongue travelled, the more he longed to release, and he found it much harder than before, until he had surged.

She smiled at him, as she stood up, and he lay deep kisses into her mouth. "I want to go deeper…" He murmured.

"How?"

He turned her around by the waist, gently pushed her down into the bed, kissing down her spine, and took a deep breath as he gently pushed into her. His hands went down, rubbing between her thighs, causing her to curve upwards. He went in further, until he felt himself fully engorged, having never felt such desire. The curves of her back and the mop of her hair bounced from his actions, and she continued to moan. He kept pacing himself to go on further and longer than before, focusing hard than he ever had.

Maeby enjoyed the sensations he kept projecting inside her, driving up her spine, wave after wave.

When Michael could hold no longer, he had a huge release, the feelings flooding his body, his fingers speeding up. She moaned deeply, but she hadn't quivered the entire time. Michael kneeled down on the bed, his tongue looking for the tiny spot that would make her scream.

She then made a noise that would have woken Canada, then flopped into the comforter.

He sat down on the bed beside her, running his hand through her hair. "Are you happy?"

"Of course." She rolled over.

"There's nobody in the world as beautiful as you, Maeby."

"Are you saying that through an orgasm fog, or…."

"And nobody as cheeky." He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the pillows and under the covers. "You are beautiful." He whispered, kissing her softly.

_The lovers drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms. And yes, they were left the room by themselves while all that was going on. It was just way too intense. Away from the oasis, George Michael woke from his drunken stupidor at around 4:30am. Realising his fiancée was still sound asleep, he went about finding his car, to find something else he was missing._

George Michael climbed into his car, clipping his phone into its holster. "Journey time: 5 hours, 20 minutes." He groaned in exhaustion.

_But George Michael would find other things he was not missing – massive roadworks on the interstate._

He groaned harder, as the traffic ground to a halt.

"Journey time: 7 hours, 20 minutes."

He did a u-turn, speeding back towards Orange County.

_It would be another half hour before George Michael could make it to the airport, finding yet another thing he would not miss._

"Five hundred bucks to go to Phoenix!?" He exclaimed from the reservation desk.

"There's a big conference there or something. Flights have been booked solid for months."

_He groaned again, pulling out his credit card._

Having not brought any entertainment for the flight. George Michael was lucky enough to get an inflight magazine. One that was several years old, and featured his father.

_He groaned harder._

The woman in the seat beside him leant over. "I've heard that company are on the up and up."

"I think that man is screwing the woman I love." He seethed.

"Power will do funny things to people." She remarked apologetically.

_At least she hadn't recognised him as George Maheras. That would have been weird. But the man behind him, did._

An hour later, George Michael disembarked, the man from the flight shadowing him. He headed towards the car reservations desk.

"$300? For a car for a day?"

"You're under 25, and there's this big…"

"I know." He groaned. "Take my money." He threw his card at her.

"Get down! Hands in the air!" A group of black clad airport security guards with machine guns rushed towards the desk.

"Okay, okay" George Michael threw his hands up, both of which were pulled behind his back as he was pushed to the desk.

"Name?"

"George Michael Bluth."

"Louder!"

"George Michael Bluth!" He shouted.

The man from the plane tapped on his iPad, from a short distance.

"You gonna assault this woman?"

"No, no sir."

"Good."

"So you'll be taking insurance?" the listless woman behind the desk asked.

"How much?" he muttered, his face pressed against the bench

"$100."

He groaned.

_The burning hot sun rose over Phoenix, and the eyes that would be burning of the back of his head had he not run off would track him down in the desert._

His phone had notifications of finding five messages and two voicemails. And the phone immediately ringing.

"Where are you?" Rebel demanded.

"Family emergency." He mumbled quickly.

"You didn't come to bed last night, you're gone this morning, what's going on George?"

"I'm in Phoenix. I gotta go." He hung up on her, the phone slipping from his hand, and meeting the cold tiles, the screen cracking. He groaned.

_Despite his lack of success, he wasn't without it completely, identifying the hotel from the creepy photo Maeby had sent him. But George Michael's luck wasn't about to change yet._

George Michael saw Maeby standing in the doorway between the business center and the lobby. "Maeby, am I glad to see you."

"Oh hey, George Michael. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. Did something happen last night?"

"Like…?"

George Michael said nothing, and Maeby didn't clarify.

Maeby was then yanked to one side, when he heard a familiar voice. He stepped forward to see his fathers arms wrapped around his cousin, kissing her deeply. Maeby hadn't had a second to protest.

"Oh…my…gosh…" George Michael could barely utter two words, let alone the third.

Michael released and held a look of sheer horror on his face, with Maeby looking shell-shocked.

"You did eat that chocolate last night." George Michael muttered to himself.

"Hi Son." Michael stated cautiously.

"Did you know that's my wife?"

"Yeap." Michael's hands went up to form a human shield. "but don't do anything you'll regret, okay? Please?" he backed away, trying to back towards the corner of the room.

_George Michael had always swung at men who had wronged him with women. He had done it for Ann. He had done it for Rebel. But this time, something was different. This was beyond a woman who was notionally good on paper, this was someone the aggressor had known for over a decade he was interested in. Had feelings for. Possibly, knowing his love. And yet, there was no sign of remorse. No sign of apology. Just cowering. And that he was already engaged to someone else._

George Michael bolted towards the outside door, disappearing into the distance.

"Wow, I thought he was going to pop you."

"I think we should go back upstairs."

_Which is what they did_.

Michael patted the bed, and Maeby sat down. "I need to ask you seriously."

"What's going on?"

"George Michael has a temper. That impact I said your advice made, it was to my face. He told me almost ten years ago that he had feelings for you. He'll be back. Maeby, I don't want to push you into anything but…if you make a decision, perhaps he won't…"

_It was a nice idea, but it hadn't worked before._

On the end of the boat, the beaming sun was not going to brighten the day for the news George Michael was about to receive.

"It's really not that big of a deal, George Michael. I'm 18 now, and besides, we really haven't even done anything." Ann had stated, matter-of-factly.

"Practically nothing." Standing beside Ann, GOB had showed his teeth. "But what are you going to do? The girl obviously needs a man."

George Michael had then punched GOB in the face.

Maeby sighed. A moment later her phone started to ring; George Michael.

"Maybe there's a third way out of this. I need some air." She said casually, taking her bag and phone and closing the door behind her, then answering her phone.

"We need to talk." George Michael demanded.

"I know."

"Do you know that fountain that looks like a heart with a spear through it?"

"Yeah. I'll be there shortly."

_And Michael would not be left out of the phone party either._

Michael was left to ponder his situation, when his own phone rang.

"Michael Bluth, of the Bluth Company? This is Goran Crack, of the Los Angeles Pynnacle. Do you wish to comment on your sexual relationship with your niece? Why is your son in love with his cousin, who is also his wife?"

He hung up.

_George Michael and Maeby were due to meet at another creepy feature of the resort. Did we mention the Hatelove hotel was a tad creepy? _

"Hey." Maeby joined him on the fountain, a heart with black tiling and spears through it.

"Hey." George Michael offered.

"What are you doing here?"

"I want to know what happened last night."

"Why would you care, you fired me, I almost had to leave town my reputation was so bad."

George Michael became frustrated. "Is that what this is? My dad gives you money and you throw yourself at him?"

"I don't need this…" Maeby stood up.

"No. Tell me what happened." He grabbed her wrist.

She yanked away. "Why would I?"

"Because…I'm your husband. Because…I will throw it all in with Rebel Alley, just spend a night with me. Please."

"You think that's what I'm like?" Maeby flinched. "I just casually decided to have sex with Michael?"

His eyes widened, and he shook his head, mouthing "No…"

Her eyes shined with resentment, and she stormed back to the hotel.

"Wait…Don't leave me." He cried out.

_Maeby left one stressed Bluth male to find another._

She returned to the room to find Michael pacing the carpet.

"We have a problem." Michael exhaled.

"We have two problems."

"Okay, do you think yours is bigger?"

"What's wrong, Michael?"

"The media knows about you and I, that we are related, that George Michael came here to track you down, and his feelings for you."

"Okay." Maeby sat down slowly. "I think we should deny."

"That's what I was thinking. That fight was regarding some sort of…family issue. They know we've been fighting." He turned to her. "So are you sticking around here?"

"Yes, Michael. But George Michael knows."

"Okay."

"He did as you said he would, he tried to fight for me."

Michael reached to his bedside table, picking up a piece of paper. "I think this could help."

She unfolded it slowly. It was an FL-100, otherwise known as an application for divorce. She looked at it with a pained look on her face.

"Just think about it." He leaned over to her, planting a soft kiss on her cheek.

She lay back on the bed, her t-shirt riding up, showing her belly. Michael rubbed the soft skin with his hand, kissing the warm flesh. She murmured with pleasure. His hands slid up her top, unhooking and scooping her bra with the rest of her clothing. She reached for his shirt, the buttons sliding open. He unbuckled his belt and dropped his pants, and reached for her belt, pulling off the layers.

"Do you still want to do this? He leaned over her. "You can step away now, I just don't get into relationships lightly…"

"You want a relationship?"

"Of course."

_Maeby felt like she was drawn to the deep blue eyes of his man, like no other deep blue thing before, including the posters of the Oceanwalker which she had refused to approve. But this time, she didn't feel like there was an optional response._

She stroked his cheek. "Yes, I want to be with you."

He leaned in, tender kisses, their bodies meeting.

Later, Maeby's phone rang again; George Michael.

"Hi."

"Please meet me downstairs again. In the bar. I need to speak to you."

"The journalist wants me to blame this all on Dad." George Michael slid his drink off the coaster on the worn red table.

"What would that do?"

"Me, the son that thought dating a cousin was fine, you, the niece who was convinced dating an uncle was fine. He's the maniac."

"What would happen to the company?"

George Michael went silent.

_Maeby may have been angry and confused, but she could smell the overcooked fried bird from the gourmet restaurant of the hotel, and other forms of poultry…from six paces._

"Wait. This isn't from that journalist, this is from Ganki and Pop-pop!"

"Maeby…I will give you a house wherever you want, whatever car, we can take things slow, I have enough money so you will never need work again."

"You really believe them." She spat. "They have been lying to us for years, George Michael, we had to share a model home with extended family because there was no money. They won't give you or I a cent."

_Or not enough to keep Maeby in the life she was accustomed to._

"Please. Think about it. This can't end well, Maeby."

She gazed into his begging eyes.

_It was a new experience for Maeby to be begged for sex, one which she felt uneasy about. But she had to weigh her options. What could be of a relationship with a non-maternal uncle, running a company together? What of the family that while supporting her poorly, had provided her shelter and food for the most part, for the first 20 years of her life? There was perhaps one decision in all of it._

She tied her hair in a messy ponytail, gazing at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. With a broken voice, she whispered into her phone. "Michael…there's something I need to do. Please forgive me." And hung up on him.

She closed the door behind her, finding what was a drab hotel room flickering with the soft light of dozens of candles, the white bedspread sprinkled with rose petals.

George Michael stepped towards her, handing her a red rose.

The sweet scent of roses wafted throughout the room, overwhelming her senses as she inhaled deeply.

He took her other hand, pulling her towards the bed, heading towards the bench and returning with a tray that included a bottle of Champaign and two flutes.

"Do you remember when we first kissed? I think about that afternoon every day." He handed her a glass. He then took one of the strawberries, dipped it in the chocolate, and ate it. The second, he placed in her mouth. "When nobody in your family remembered your birthday, cared that you were failing, or was listening, I was there for you. It was never to get you into bed,"

_It was. But only some of the time._

"…it was because you were the most special person to me in the world. There's no woman in this world who can take your place, my love. All I want to show you is how I will be everything you could ever need. There's just one thing I need from you." He removed the tray from the bed.

He leaned in, kissing her. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her beneath him. He continued his trail of kisses down her neck, unbuttoning her shirt, Maeby flat on her back. He moaned in joy, feeling the resistance of her soft chest against his tongue, unhooking the barrier from them.

_George Michael had learned a lot from Spain. And from when he took Maeby to second base._

She heaved, the bliss of his mouth surging through her.

He groaned in joy, feeling her body respond from his touch. His hands slipped downwards, finding her fly and buckle, which were soon away from her. The trail of his mouth continued south, tongue exploring the uncharted territories.

Maeby went flushed, gasping for air from the sensations flooding her body. The longer George Michael went, the harder the pressure built. She moaned at her highest octave and trembled for the last time, and whispered his name, with George Michael grinning, crawling on top of her. He kissed her lips slowly, hands gently feeling her all over, then his tongue went looking for hers. He pulled himself up and inside of her, his gentle movements matching her breathing and sending her senses catapulting.

"Maeby…I love you…ahhh…" He moaned, his desire rising from her response from his motions.

When he had climaxed, he sat up next to her, cuddling her, as the gentle light candle light flickered against the walls. Eventually, grabbing a robe from the floor, he reached towards the side table. He kneeled before her, opening a felt box with a white gold ring with a large solitaire diamond.

"Maeby I've never been more sure about anything in my life, I love you, come with me, and we can build a life together. I'll let you run my company. Please?"

Maeby sat and pondered through dogs barking, street racing and several shots being fired. The HateLove was not in the best neighbourhood.

"I love Michael."

George Michael was crestfallen.

"I think you could be happy with Rebel." She collected her clothes.

"What you have with him can't last. Everyone's gonna know soon. Do you think the investors will stick around?"

"That's not your concern." Her voice sharpened.

"Believe it or not, I care about you." George Michael took both of her elbows. "There's a tomorrow, there's next week, what then?"

"I'll cross those bridges." She insisted, and kissed him on the cheek. "Goodbye, George Michael."

_Maeby returned to the hotel room she shared, only to find him her bunking buddy out the front._

"I'm sorry."

He said nothing, opening the door, to show the room lined with flickering candles.

She doubled over in laugher, almost crying. Laughing a little too hard, her emotions still a bit raw.

_Bluth men do think alike. Need we say more?_

"That's the last big romantic gesture I do for you."

"No, no, it's beautiful. Just, you don't wanna know."

"Maeby." He pierced her with his deep blue eyes, "I don't want whatever that was ever happening again."

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

"It hurt so much, and, I love you."

Her eyes lit up and she pulled him in close.

He buried his face into her neck and shoulders.

"Can we talk to Bob Loblaw about the divorce?"

"Of course." He smiled.

_Barry Zuckercorn knew emancipation. Barry Zuckercorn knew the law that happens part a certain point on the coastline. But Barry Zuckercorn does not know divorce law._

Surrounded by Lucille, George Michael, and George Senior at the penthouse, Barry replies, "I don't think she can do that. I mean, you haven't lived together in so long, surely the courts would say, 'give it another shot first'. I think we can put this one to bed."

_But Bob Loblaw does not lie down easily. In fact, he doesn't lie down at all, rather he sleeps in a reclining chair, with a patented dictation system attached in case his REM cycles create ideas for his Bob Loblaw Law Blog. A blog void of ideas on sleeping, but a lot on divorce._

In Bob Loblaw's boardroom, he sat without his client. "So my client hasn't lived with her spouse in seven years. She also accumulated no property while living with him in that short period they lived together, eight years ago. Under Californian law, my client can get a no-fault divorce with none of these things. What exactly is your argument?"

Seated opposite, Barry nodded slowly, turning to George Michael. "He's good."

"Infidelity. I saw her kissing another man." George Michael piped up.

"Like this?" Bob Loblaw opened a file, holding up and flipping through Facebook photos of George Michael and Rebel kissing and horsing around.

_For the king of Fakeblock, George Michael had not gotten a handle on his privacy settings._

"I've tried to make this marriage work, and she hasn't." George Michael got flustered.

"Some candles and strawberries seven years later are not a legal basis to challenge a divorce." Bob replied, coldly.

"Incest. With her uncle."

"Or with you. Her cousin."

"This is not fair!" George Michael cried out.

"Justice is blind. As seems to be your family." He turned to his stenographer. "Strike that last remark."

_And the divorce was finalised. As one case of blindness was struck down through the courts, another was affirmed through the media._

"There is no incest in this family." Michael stood in front of the media pack, behind a lectern, set up in his office with all the furniture pushed to one side and chairs set up in the middle. Maeby stood to one side.

"So you refute a dozen witnesses that saw you kiss your niece last week?"

"No, we were merely greeting as family members."

"They say you were open mouth kissing."

Michael paused, "that's not what I recall."

"So you are not having a sexual relationship with your CFO, and niece, Maeby Bluth."

"Her name is Fünke."

"Answer the question."

"She isn't my maternal niece as my sister, who is her mother, are adopted. But, no. We are not."

_Later that night, a figure appeared in the darkened hallway._

"Hello?" Michael called from his now re-placed desk.

_But someone would beat him to it, and save Michael from a beating. At least for now._

"Come here." Maeby called from her office doorway, down the hall. She closed the door behind him. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to see my dad."

"No, you don't. Have you apologised to Rebel yet?"

"Sorry?"

"For disappearing in the middle of the night, and for phoning in the entire engagement party. She told me what happened."

"I couldn't give a f[beep] about that."

"Well, you should." Maeby retorted.

"The only marriage I wanted, you ended."

"George Michael, you wanted to f[beep] me when you did that all those years ago. I gave you what you wanted."

"You think that's all it ever was to me…"

"You were coming onto me pretty strong at UCLA, I know you were trying to bang me there too."

_He was, as was his roommate. If only Algebra hadn't gotten in the way._

"I gave you your fantasy. Why do you keep trying to drag this up?"

"I don't get you."

_George Michael suffered what men his age suffer in a modern world full of women who either don't know what they want, or know they want something different – 'nice guy syndrome'. They become convinced somehow being nice means women owe them a debt of eternal gratitude, paid in sexual favours and a relationship. George Michael was about to get hit with what a lot of these men suffer from – a lack of gratitude, and a sense of embitterment._

"I was that guy who was there for you for so long. I was that guy who always went out of his way to help you. I was the guy who got myself into trouble to save your skin. And how much of these things has Michael ever done for you?"

"What are you talking about, you fired me. That's the only break I've had in what, five years?"

"And Michael took you on."

"When I screwed up, he told me to never lie to him again. He didn't fire me. Sometimes things are not meant to be."

"It's that simple, is it?"

"Go home to your fiancée. She loves you." She patted him on the shoulder, opening the door. She watched him walk sullen to the elevator, head and arms drooped.

When the lift had closed, Maeby joined Michael.

"What did he want?"

She sat on his desk. "I think he more wanted to see you. But I'd prefer to not get more holes in these walls, they cost a fortune to fix when GOB did it."

"I can't keep wondering, Maeby, it's driving me nuts. What did you do that night you were with him?"

"We had sex. More than once. Then he proposed. And I said no. He has fantasied about having sex with me for years, I thought if I could give him one afternoon of pleasure, he'd realise what he had was better, and go back to her."

"But he hasn't."

"I think he's angrier at me now than you, but that he still might attack you if given a chance. I'm just trying to get through to him, you know."

_Michael was in the dark carpark, when he was finally troubled._

Walking away from the building, he answered his phone. "Hey, George Michael."

"So you aren't ignoring my calls."

"No. Of course not. Why would I?"

"I came to talk to you, and she dragged me away from you."

"She's concerned. Last time we talked one-on-one there were fists involved, buddy."

"What else have you told her about me? About the time when I was three and I s[beep] myself on a one of those flying chair things and it went everywhere? About the light sabre video in the garage?"

_Nobody would want to see the first one, but for those interested, the second is on YouTube._

"I think she knows about the second, and I had forgotten about the first until you reminded me."

"She's the age of your son, does it ever occur to you?"

"Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two and nothing happened…"

"Because you stood in the way!"

"I said at sixteen it wasn't a good idea. I still think that. But you saw her not a year ago."

"And you came barging into the dorm, interrupting me!"

"You two were doing algebra, but, I'm sorry if I did."

_George Michael failed to mention that she was in fact still pursuing Perfecto Telles, and had rejected him shortly after that. Or rather, he failed to muster up the courage to make more than a cursory investigation, find out Perfecto was 17, and strategically insert himself into the situation. But don't say it hasn't been said George Michael has limitations._

"You know, I just can't help thinking, this is what you wanted all along."

"No, no, it just all happened. We were working together really closely. She's just…amazing doesn't describe it."

"Well she told me she loved you…after she f[beep]ed me. So I don't know what you make of that."

_Michael's heart leapt, as she hadn't told him the same thing. And then sunk, reminded how she'd slept with another man. Maeby seemed to joke of screwing other men, and this scared Michael, as he was incapable of focusing on more than one woman at a time._

"I don't make anything of it."

"Well, then I guess I'll see you around."

"Okay, bye George Michael."

_But Michael and Maeby weren't to continue to escape their family for much longer. In fact, their family would mean they couldn't escape the family._

"It's Midterms, it's Midterms again!" The loud TV woman boomed. "And we have quite a field. Sitwell versus Bluth. It's tight, and it's set to get tighter."

In the modern apartment, Michael relaxed on his modern pale couch, one arm around Maeby's shoulder.

Michael's phone rang. "Michael, we might have a problem. There's video from the hotel of you and Maeby in the business center. And they're saying they'll release it in the next week."

"Thanks, Bob. I'll get back to you." He hung up. "They have video of us from the hotel, they'll release it next week. They must be doing this to get to your mother."

Maeby sighed impatiently. "Can we buy them off?"

_Maeby would give a cent to her mother's campaign, but for some reason was asking about giving money to a campaign supporting the opponent's campaign._

"I doubt it. Why don't we pull forward the first five Bluthton houses and do a new infomercial, as a start."

"Sure. We can afford to get the contractors for longer days."

"Next week?"

"The landscaping might be a bit questionable, but the rest, sure."

_Questionable, or non-existent? It was all a bit hazy when such words were in the mix, but so was the idea anyone could finish five houses in five days._

She snuggled into his broad chest. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in. "You know how to make a girl feel safe, Michael."

He ran his fingers down her arms, "You're not just any girl. You're mine, my one and only. I love you."

She turned and kissed him, pressing herself against him, unbuttoning his shirt. She then unbuckled and unzipped his pants. She started to lick and suck, teasing the tip, smiling as he moaned. She cupped him, lightly stroking. Her lips continued most of the action, running up and down the length.

Michael gasped and moaned, the sensations rushing through him. He wanted to watch her, enjoying it too much, but then also close his eyes and see the beautiful lights and colours he kept seeing from the rush, it all being over for what felt like too soon.

She smiled, and climbed on top of him.

"You. Are. Amazing."

"Thanks."

"No, you are. And I want you to know, whatever happens, in life, whatever, you can trust me. I'm here for you." He added, "Whether you do that, or otherwise."

She smiled, going into a drawn out kiss.

And with drama and tragedy, there is ecstasy and agony, this time, with an aunt.

"We have got to stop this." Lindsay threw her fist against the large wooden desk. "We are so close, this will destroy us. People already know this family has gone through some…diversions."

_Lindsay had a way with words. She had been trained, as most politicians are. It wasn't the Lindsay everyone had come to know and love._

Lindsay had waved her hands about in the family room, explaining to Michael. "There is a cream with real diamonds in it. I can actually smear diamonds on my face! And it's only $400 a tub! That's like, what, like a million diamonds for $400? A million f[beep]ing diamonds!"

Rita, Michael's then girlfriend, and Lindsay, having returned from shopping, discussing their haul with Michael in the model home hallway.

"You guys have these jackets on inside out?" Michael had asked.

"Yeah, that way you see the label." Rita had smiled.

"Yeah, I mean, that's what you're paying for, right? It's a great statement on fashion." Lindsay had added.

At the stove, she declared proudly, "I call it, hot ham water!" She had held out the wooden spoon with ham broth to Buster.

She looked at her parents, who were pacing the neoclassical wooden office.

"But we have an excellent story to tell. What is this, how did it get out?"

"Your brother has taken control of the Bluth Company." George Senior started.

"I'm aware of that." Lindsay shouted. "I had to beg some other developers for cash. Do you know how much I had to w[beep] myself out?"

_It wasn't like Lindsay hadn't w[beep]ed herself out for politics before._

"Sweetie…Calm down. Your daughter is in there as his financial person, and had gone through our books and shelf companies from top to bottom. There was no-where left to hide the money. They seemed to have been in cahoots for a while."

"Something weird was definitely going on there when we were there." Lucille added. "They were very chummy."

"What is this tape? What's on it?"

"We don't know. We haven't seen it." George Senior shrugged.

"George Michael is on the f[beep]ing tape, get him in here now!" She shouted.

_Four coffees later, George Michael joined the inquisition, dragged away from his failing business. In the meantime, Lindsay's fashion minders had dressed her for an upcoming fundraising event, in one of the latest trends, the layered coat._

The minders disappeared out the door, as George Michael cowered in the corner. Lindsay stood from behind her desk in the red coat with a shoulder cape that went around the entire top of the coat, and had a red, broad brimmed felt hat with several flowers in one corner. "What did you see?" She demanded.

George Michael stood a crumpled mess in the corner. "I really don't want to get involved, Aunt Lindsay."

"What the f[beep] is this? Are we just gonna hand Sitwell a f[beep] win?" Lindsay shouted at him.

Lucille shushed her daughter, approaching George Michael. "Sweetie, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. And Ganki knows that what you saw wasn't pleasant. But your father clearly is not acting in your best interests, and hasn't been for a long time. You remember how we tried to help you, right?"

He sighed. "Yes."

"We need your help. You can help us, can't you?"

He looked his aunt in the eye. "I saw your Michael hug Maeby, and open-mouth kiss her. She kissed him back."

_The entire room knew Michael and Maeby had gotten close. But it was the first time they had heard details that would make the salacious sections of a Borgian scroll weep._

"What else has she told you?"

"She told me that day I tried to talk her out of working with him and stay, that they had been having sex."

"So you knew she was actually with him, when you tried to talk her out of working with him?" George Senior asked. "No, no, no, you needed a completely different strategy."

"You propositioned to your cousin?!" Lindsay almost fell off the edge of her desk.

_George Senior had not been listening closely to his daughter, and it showed._

"Not proposed, just reaffirmed the existing marriage." George Senior said it casually, like he was talking about different types of coffee blends.

"What marriage?"

"We were married for…eight years? And Maeby filed for divorce a few weeks ago. And got it." George Michael nodded. "It was an accident, we only found out when the certificate arrived."

"At least you didn't consummate it." Lindsay shrugged.

George Michael looked at the floor.

The room went quiet, then incredulous. "When?" Lucille demanded.

"That night I proposed."

"Well I never thought it would be Maeby would become the family bike." Lucille mused to herself.

Lindsay, meanwhile, was almost having a coronary. "This is great. Just great."

"All they have is that tape, Aunt Lindsay." George Michael commented. "Forgive me for being naïve, but as you pointed out, if the rest of the family looks bad, you do too. So really, you need to make this tape look wrong or unimportant. And I can't see how it can look unimportant."

"What, so mouth-to-mouth, Standing up? Or rehearsing a play?" She mocked.

"We don't know what angle it was shot at. All they have is what I say, what the other people in the room who were there say, and the tape."

"Are you sure, that's it?"

"Someone requested that footage. They knew something." George Senior insisted.

George Michael again looked sheepish.

"What is it?" Lindsay demanded.

"The journalist seem to know who we are, perhaps he heard me somewhere."

"I may have said aloud while pointing to a photo of dad that he was involved with someone who I had feelings for."

"What were the exact words, George Michael." Lucille insisted.

"I think that man is screwing the woman I love."

"Okay." Lindsay stood up, pushing her palms together. "We deny. We flood the airwaves with commercials. Call Michael and tell him we need money."

_Another four coffees, and Michael Bluth faced the inquisition._

Michael Bluth walked uncomfortably into the room, into the centre of the room, right in front of his sister. "We know what you're doing. We've put it all together. But we are willing to overlook it."

George Michael appeared less convinced about that one.

"Because if I can get into Congress, I can do other things. If this armada sinks from the loose lips of a journalist and a grainy CCTV camera, all of us will be back on your pauper doorstep the day after."

"With what?"

"Oh, not with Barry." Lindsay shot. "No, with someone competent."

George Senior grunted with displeasure.

"You need to fix this. We need money."

"Well I have no money. It's all in houses."

"Then create it. I don't care how. Do it now."

"I'll do my best."

"Good. Now, can I have a word with Michael, please." She asked the room. Everyone filed out, leaving him in her audience. She removed her coat and hat, walking behind the desk.

"How are things? The campaign?"

She looked out the large window, arms folded. "How long have you been f[beep]ing with my daughter?"

He fell short of answering for a second, then said, "Lindsay…"

"I wasn't good enough for you? I wanted to marry you, Michael."

"I never planned it to happen. I'm sorry things had to come out this way."

_Michael was more sorry things had to come out at all, it was more at all. _

"You know, I could really have used you on this campaign." She walked around her desk, placing her hands on his chest. "A strapping, macho, likeable husband."

Michael didn't meet her gaze. "Sometimes things are not meant to be." He stepped back.

_And as Michael foreshadowed, the fast tracking of Bluthton was neither meant to be._

"So they'll be no five houses." Maeby buried her head in her arms on the desk.

"Not yet, but remember, Rome wasn't built in a day. One other thing, we need donations for your mom. 20 million in three days."

"Okay. Okay, okay, okay." Maeby psyched herself into this scenario.

"We won an award? Does that help?"

"Yes. Yes, I can work with this. Get me a mocha latte." She picked up the phone.

_But day went to night, and night went to day again, but Maeby was about to see some cents._

Maeby slumped over her desk, the mountain of local government documents overwhelming. She was awoken by a knock on the door.

"Delivery, for Maeby Fünke?"

The man was holding a bunch of Tiger lilies. "On my desk. Thanks."

A grin spread over her face. She met him at the door, scribbling on the clipboard, making a b-line for Michael's office. Seeing it was just him, she shut the door behind her.

"What?" He stood up.

She ran up towards him, throwing her arms around him. "I hope you're getting them from Mom's old mall, you might be near a free one."

"What did I do?"

She crinkled her nose.

"Yeah. I know."

She kissed him passionately, him lifting her off the ground to his level, them nose to nose.

"It helped?"

"Well the snickers might have gotten them done in forty five…but flowers? They'll be done in an hour."

"Mm." he moaned, kissing her softly. "And yes, I am close to a free one. I won't tell you which one though."

"Too bad you can't get a punchcard system for me."

"What?"

"You know, getting a free one."

"Ahh, isn't everyone a free one?"

She shrugged.

A knock interrupted them.

They straightened up, before Michael shouted, "Come in."

"Call for Maeby? Guy from Washington?"

_Michael found his little check butt later, with a sense of hanging chad._

Leaning into her desk chair, Maeby tented her fingers, mulling. Michael walked in, shutting the door, and sat opposite her.

"What's on your mind?"

"Washington call earlier; they say they'll destroy the tape, if we give them ten."

Michael also tented his fingers. "And why didn't you tell me this three hours ago?"

"Because I think it's bulls[beep]. I'm tempted, Mom Is a pain in my butt and to see her fail at something so stupidly unachievable could be amusing. But on the other hand these guys are lying out of their own a[beep]. What's to stop them destroying the main and distributing the copy, or selling the story that we sold out?"

"What's there to consider, then?"

"No, everything's quite excellent." She tapped her fingers together. "I don't know, just daydreaming how Mom will fail I guess."

"You know, she's actually working pretty religiously on it…"

"Come on, please don't go all Michael on me."

"What's that meant to mean?"

"Saying nice things about her to keep the family ticking along."

"I do actually mean it, she has some good qualities."

"I guess." She looked at the clock. "Time to get up."

"No, wait." He placed her lillies on a filing cabinet, then lifted her onto her desk. He parted a space in the mess. Then, he pulled her little black dress over her head, dispatched of the rest on the floor, and lay her down in the sea of paperwork.

"I wanna see you orgasm in the middle of 20 million dollars."

She laughed, covering her mouth.

He positioned her legs over his shoulders. "No, seriously."

As his tongue kneaded and licked, she exhaled and shuddered, deep sounds coming from her throat, "my boss is going down on me on my own desk…"

Michael laughed, not stopping, watching her shape jiggle from her deep breathing.

The bliss kept reverberating through her, feeling his warm, wet tongue sending her shivers inside and out. As she closed her eyes, she could see his face. "Michael…Michael…" her voice continuing to climb octaves. Her breath quickened, madly sucking in oxygen to compensate the speed her heart was pounding. Her torso started shaking. Her banks then broke, and she let out an almighty cry, sinking into the paperwork around her.

He grinned, leaning over her, "you are unbelievably sexy when you shout my name in a sea of money." He kissed her.

She looked back at him in a haze, with love in her eyes.

_Michael's heart shifted to his mouth, pleading with her eyes to say what his head knew. But he would not get the verbal response he wanted._

"Do they know?"

"Yes."

"What did Mom say?"

He paused.

Back in her office, Lindsay had lifted his chin with her hand. "Clearly you've changed your mind on how you see family, why didn't you come to me first?"

"Well, Lindsay it all just happened, nothing was planned."

"It doesn't need to be, I still think it could all work out, especially with me in Congress and you head of an amassing company." She'd leaned in, her other hand grabbed around the area of his zip.

Back on her desk and now sat up, Maeby's mouth fell open.

"She said some wonderful things."

She covered herself with her dress. "She came onto you! Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I blew her off. Besides, you took a while to tell me exactly what you did with George Michael."

Her mouth hadn't closed yet. "Okay, first he did my nipples, then he went down on me, then he f[beep]ed me. Then he proposed."

"You're right. I didn't need those details. But for your information, Lindsay grabbed my crotch and tried to kiss me."

_The flowers lost their balance on a binder, which came tumbling to the ground with them, 'Nuh-uh to Uh-huh: Sex and the workplace.' It was the cheapest course Michael could find on eBay, a steal at $19.99. The water immediately saturated the pages into a wet mess._

"Poured cold water on that idea." Maeby remarked.

"Yeah, there's something else we will probably have to pour cold water on too."

_Michael could have been referring to a lot of things, but just to be clear, no, not that._

"We're both gonna have to take a pay cut. Some of these people won't come through, the company will have to kick in."

_Maeby was slightly p[beep]ed. Her mother, which had stolen things her entire life, including a $50,000 check, was now stealing again from her perceived hard work. And had tried to steal her boyfriend._

"F[beep]. Well, I'm glad I'm month-to-month on my apartment then. Maybe I should go back to Sudden Valley."

_Or maybe not. The resident population consisted mostly of shut-ins who watch infomercials all day. All of the houses now appeared very lived in, which is fine as a developer if you never have to see your clients again, but a problem if you happen to be their neighbour._

"Maybe there's a third way out of this." Michael thought aloud. "Don't do anything too sudden."

Fully dressed, she picked up her handbag from the floor. "By the way, that doesn't count as a freebie."

_Back at his apartment and without the woman he gave a 50% pay cut to hours earlier, Michael opened his email on his tablet, finding an email from Lindsay. Inside, a link to the video her money would help to keep everyone off the scandal pages._

"Lindsay Bluth. Honest. Trustworthy. An American. Lindsay Bluth's family have worked long and hard to build a successful company. They have worked with the same blood, sweat and tears that made this country great. Others will try to tear down Lindsay Bluth, and their hard work. But do you want to build this country's future, or do you want to be one who tears down the American spirit? Vote 1 for Lindsay Bluth."

"I sure hope this works." He mumbled to himself, forwarding it to Maeby.

_Ten minutes and two star wars parody videos later, he got a response. _

'I think she's pitched it right. I sure hope this works. Xox'

_It was polling day eve, and Lindsay was having her final moments to pitch to her true believers, and all the voters who hadn't decided if they'd amble down to cast a vote._

Michael and Maeby watched it on the TV in Michael's office.

"My fellow Californians. My opponent isn't about the future. She isn't about jobs, or the economy, or creating the America of tomorrow. She's about the past, and not even her own past. She has tried to smear me relentlessly, jealous how the company of my family has soared to new heights in the face of her family's company's slump. Well, we aren't about that in America. We aren't about that in California! No! I need each and every one of you, loyal patriots, to vote, and to get everyone you know to vote, to keep hard work and the priorities of our nation on track! To keep honesty, integrity, and good governance in Washington! Vote one, for Bluth, tomorrow."

"You're gonna vote for her, right." Michael sent her a look.

"Do I have to?"

"She could be here, or she could be there." He pointed at the TV.

Maeby weighed the options. "Tough choice."

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael tries to replace his sexual harassment binders,_

Michael scrolls through page after page of auction listings on his work PC.

_But finds all inexpensive Californian courses have shut up shop, because Sitwell had made an election promise to police the standards._

Michael scrolls through a newsfeed about the sexual harassment courses being policed. "Sitwell, f[beep]!"l

And Maeby goes to vote,

"Hi, Maeby Bluth?"

The preppy elderly lady looked through the computer. "ID? Oh sorry, I can't find you here."

_Only to find she's not on the roll._

"That's right, I forgot to enrol."

_She sounded so disappointed._


	3. Light Knight

_It was a while later, almost four weeks, before the holes in the Bluthton lot continue to be filled with…homes, of a sort. Having made the significant contributions to Lindsay's campaign that they were one way or another obliged to provide, Michael and Maeby were working long hours trying to put together a plan B of sorts in order to keep the company building. _

Maeby walked into Michael's office just as Michael's phone sounded. Appearing uncomfortable, he placed it down on his desk.

"If we can employ just three less contractors, we can get another ten done in a month." Maeby pointed her pen.

"Where would they come from though? We don't want to lose any further good ones to Sitwell." He closed the door behind her. "I'm already worried we've cut back to the bone here, we don't want to dig our own graves."

"We need to keep revenue up, we're only just turning around from no houses, I don't want to see us divided from a crush."

"Nobody wants to see that. Why can't do more pre-sales? Sell off the plan? I know it was our competitive advantage..."

"Well, it meant we could have the shut-ins moving in immediately, kinda matches our strategy of selling to people who buy what's in front of them." She looked at the TV, seeing a pizza commercial. "I'm starving, how about pizza?"

_It was resolved that less houses with the same contractors would settle the possibility of any crushing debt hole. The same couldn't be said for the rest of the Bluth family._

He answered his phone. "Hi, Mom?"

"Michael, I can't get into the club."

"I wasn't aware that was my problem, you remember I don't pay you anymore?"

"Well the mother of the hot-shot CEO can't get in for lunch, how does that reflect on him?"

"Neither can the Ganki of the CFO, why did you call me? Is it because you thought I'd say yes?"

"Look Michael, I don't shove in your face when I was [beep] your uncle Oscar, I wasn't telling you the graphic details like how we [beep] [beep] [beeeeep] so I expect you to not shove details about you and my granddaughter in my face."

_This was only partly true._

Lucille had watched Oscar do his tai chi in the penthouse, shouting over the phone, "Oscar, close it! You look like the window of a butcher shop!"

Later, Oscar had stood with Michael outside the gas station, musing how to administer marijuana to Lucille, but Michael had meant for Oscar to administer Oscar.

"The question is, which way do I try to get it in her?"

"I don't need any details."

"Maybe, I'll put it in her brownie."

"Hey!"

Michael was nodding blankly, trying to stop the mental images. "Okay, I'll try."

"Good. And can you take Buster off my hands for a few hours? He keeps getting into your father's juice, except it's not juice, it's…."

"Mom, we are not day care, you'll have to find something to keep him occupied. Why don't you get him doing that archaeology group again, maybe inspecting holes will keep him distracted."

"Well, I will keep you abreast if he gets randy, I will not have him dragging in more common w[beep] like Lucille #2.

"She's dead, so I don't think you'll have a problem with that. Just make sure he gets in a good group, that likes to excavate dinosaurs. Not the ones that were only recently walking."

Lucille stood up from the penthouse sofa. "I'll try." And hung up.

Back in Michael's office, Maeby walked into his office, shutting the door and humming Knights in White Satin. "Pizza's here." She placed it down on the desk. "What did Ganki want?"

"How did you know it was Ganki?"

"You get the 'Ganki' look on your face." She leaned forward on the desk, her arms tenting outwards. "What did she want?"

Michael's eyes wandered to Maeby's u-neck dress that had slipped down, taking in a full view. "Something about how Buster is getting randy and how she's going to keep me…on top of things."

_Bluth men do share a number of similarities._

"Michael, my eyes are up here." Maeby signalled, repressing a cheeky grin. "How much did she want?"

"What's a membership to the Balboa club go for these days?"

"More than we need to dole out to her."

"Can we push it through as a deduction?" Michael wondered aloud.

"No." Maeby stated. "the donations Mom have already put a massive black hole in our deductions."

"I did tell her to call you directly, but she doesn't seem keen."

Maeby tried to grab a slice of pizza to bite, slipped, and stood up, with a tomato moustache and her hair a birds nest, which she then slicked back into a ponytail.

_Lucille had taken to calling Maeby 'worse than Saddam', but Michael wasn't about to jeopardise further family relations but sharing. Because he always believed, sharing was not always caring in this family._

"You've got a bit of…" he pointed to her lip.

She used her tongue to remove the sauce, not helping Michael, and he shuddered involuntarily.

"What's it gonna take for you to have the balls to finally take them on?" She tossed her head back, pulling out the tie from her hair, her growing locks tumbling, sitting on his desk, and ran her finger along the tendons of his hand. "Mr CEO?" she leaned forward, her dress unable to hold her in.

"Maeby…this is not helping." He gulped, looking everywhere else in the room.

Michael tried to flood his mind with the previously conjured images of his mother in various states of undress. But the soft stroking of the curvaceous woman on his desk was overriding it.

"Aren't you meant to be the mature one?" her fingers traced up his arms with feather touches.

"I'm still a man."

"You are indeed."

Micheal's intercom beeped. "Sir, the Nevada investors are forty minutes away."

"Thanks." He muttered through strained breath.

"Why don't you 'man-up' and stop handing out cheques?"

"It's not that simple…you know that…" he strained, then looked at her, begging written all over his face.

"You want me to fix that?"

"You're my girlfriend…please?"

"What happens if the investors show up early?"

"I'll…fix it. Come on, please?" He pleaded, clasping his hand together.

_And that made the second time in Maeby's life she was begged for sex. By a Bluth man._

"You stop handing out cheques, and I'll fix that."

_Maeby had just offered him one of his sexual fantasies, yet he would have to fight with his family. Michael was torn. Should he do what was best for his ungrateful family, or should he do what was best for himself?_

"Yes, okay, please." He mumbled through nashed teeth.

Maeby climbed under his desk, behind the desk's leg cover.

Michael was deeply engrossed when his eyes sprung wide open as the door flung against the wall, and in tromped three loud-footed men in cowboy boots.

"Hi!" Michael said brightly, unable to stand up. "How are you all?"

"Hello, you might be Michael, this is Toby, John and I'm Fred. Where's Miss Maeby, the one we've been speaking to?"

"She's full up with work at the moment…" He then winced in pain. "But she's our hardest working employee…no…executive, best we have." His face returned to a blissful smile.

"Aw great. Well I hope she can see us later."

"She wants to as well, and she will." He laughed. "Please, pull up some seats. Sorry, just a slight stiffness coming on, I just can't move."

Fred winked. "We totally get it Sir, all that hard work."

"Yeap."

"The way you're tracking, you'll be taking on the entire world."

"You know what they say, 'the world is not enough'. So, what did you want to see the company about?"

"I know we kicked in an additional twenty mil a few weeks ago, just wondering where that's going?"

"Maeby's our head person on that, but she's told me, we can definitely afford to build seven more houses within the month."

"Is that all?" Toby queried. "Last time we put in ten we had twenty going?"

_Some of that twenty was building Bluth houses, and some was building the house of Bluth- Lindsay Bluth._

"I think we've got some challenges going forward, but, revenue is steady, and that again, all credit to Maeby, she's just…fantastic." He gasped and gagged at the same time, "We think a downswing in supply could help push up prices. All the recent press the Bluth name has gotten has helped our market."

_Sort of. In the way that people went looking for their website, not so much in the way people bought anything._

Michael tried to hide his laboured breathing and maintain a straight face, the surreal sensation of physical pleasure while men who had millions of dollars around his neck waited expectantly for his explanations. "But I really can't keep stealing the thunder of the CFO, she's contributed so much to all of this, and I just can't feel satisfied without her being here with us. To explain her successful strategies. She is really, the heart and soul of moving this company forward, from ecstasy to being the top in the world." He breathed out deeply, feeling a huge release. "can you give me a moment to try to call her?"

"Certainly, sir." Fred winked, and left the room.

Maeby slid up from under the desk, and slapped him across the face.

"Ow…why?"

"Why didn't you stop when they got here?"

"I was saying nice things?"

"You sounded like an idiot."

His fingers walked up her arm, "Nobody does it better, Maeby you're the best?" he replied playfully.

_Maeby was used to having to sort out situations which male executives had dug themselves into all kinds of holes. Including, digging holes, to test how deep someone could dig earth before it all caved in._

Maeby had rallied the group of women around her holding the role, "Okay, pull!" She'd instructed the group, with a filthy Mark Cherry being pulled from the dirt.

"Gettaway, getaway…" He had mumbled hazily.

She grizzled. "Let me fix this…too." She pulled out a comb from her handbag, straightening herself. Opening the door to his office, she threw open her hands. "Gentlemen, how fantastic to see you all again!" She grinned.

"Why, we didn't see you there missie!" Fred remarked.

"No, I move in mysterious ways! Come, sit with me in my office."

"You look great-er there, Maeby." Toby remarked.

Except for a darker patch on the bottom of Maeby's dress, which was in fact an oily cheese stain. From when she showered herself in pizza.

"'cept the stain there?"

"You know what kinda dirty jokes they always run with stains on blue dresses back over the border." John grinned with a dirty look on his face, "Arkansas special." The three men chortled.

Michael laughed too, "Yeah, "I did not have sexual relations with that woman.""

Maeby's eyes shot harder than a machine gun in a mine, halting his laughing. "The maps happen to be in my office, a convenient coincidence. Follow me, Gentlemen." She signalled, ignoring her boyfriend.

Later, at her desk working madly, Maeby heard several thumps on her door. "Come." She shouted abruptly.

A delivery man staggered in with an extra-large bunches of tigerlillies.

"Leave them on the floor." She scrawled on his clipboard.

_Noticing his gift was tossed aside, Michael knew he wasn't in for an easy ride._

Michael peeked into her ajar office door, the delivery man long gone. He let himself in.

"Yes, Michael?"

"How did it go with the investors?" He shut the door.

"Great. They won't ask questions for a while. Paved over all the holes in our stories."

"Good."

She looked away from her computer. "Anything else?"

"I thought we should…talk?"

"About what?" She went back to her work.

"Why don't you tell me what's bothering you."

"Okay…I don't know why you're behaving like such a teenager, it's like I'm dating Perfecto again."

"I'm sorry." He paused, "Perhaps, it's because for the first time in a long time, I feel like I have energy, and drive, and I can do anything. I feel like a new man."

Maeby went mushy, "Yeah, but I wish you could express that in adult ways."

His phone beeped, and he gazed at it uncomfortably, then returned it to his pocket.

"What's up?"

"Nothing. I'll make it up to you. I promise." He winked, and darted off.

Over at the penthouse, Buster was being sent off for a day making holes in the ground.

"Do I really have to go? Can't I just go to the arcade again?"

"No. You've lost far too many limbs to them." Lucille folded her arms.

_Buster had a habit of losing his hands to trying to catch the loose seals- the seal toys, that usually were in the back of the machine, which Buster liked to set on fire. It was getting to a point where the family would have held an intervention, if there had been enough family to hold one. His sister was after all a Congresswoman now. Wasn't that mentioned earlier?_

Lindsay stood in front of a hall of banners reading 'Bluth', an enormous American flag behind her. "My fellow Californians, thank you for your trust in electing me…"

_It __was__ four weeks ago. So on balance it was easier just to push everything into a new activity. Buster worked from the corners of the site, straying not too far from them, as the group of student archaeologists created pits and potted around._

Buster held a flag straight, with palpable fidgeting about moving from his spot, staring at the distance.

"Buster, Buster can you come and hold this straight!" a woman in a safari hat shouted from a pit not far from him.

He anxiously approached the group, gripping the leaver. Peering in, he could see a large shield.

"What do you think it is?" The Eurasian asked the woman.

"I think it could be relics from the lost tribe of Cuatro. It looks like it could form part of one of their ceremonies." She looked up. "We're gonna have to shut this site down."

The National Park ranger who had been standing on the sidelines picked up her megaphone. "Attention workers, you are violating Federal Law around cultural sites, cease construction immediately."

Buster looked into the distance at the building site. "Hey, they all look like the model home."

_The Bluth executives had not gotten the memo before close of business that their business had been closed down for the day, and had gone home_.

Michael walked into his apartment with Maeby behind him, looking at his phone. "Take out?" he asked casually, then he groaned.

She circled around to face him. "What?"

"Nothing. Take out?"

"Sure."

He glanced at the clock. "You relax, I'll be right back." And absent minded dropped his phone on the bench.

Maeby stared at his phone, pondering, wondering, if she should pry. She grabbed it quickly. Rattling in her brain, _#1 Crush_ by _Garbage_ kept playing on loop. She didn't know why. She went through the messages. Then she knew why. She went through her Mother's thread.

'Michael, I need you…I will lie for you. We can be the gods of Orange County. Be with me xox'

'Michael, please return my calls'

'Why won't you return my calls? I burn for you. Soothe me, Michael'

'Michael, I see your face every place that I walk in, I hear your voice every time I am talking...come see me tonight. Xox'

But she gasped and almost dropped the phone at the next one, 'Michael, I would die for you, I've been dying just to feel you by my side…I need to know that you're mine. Xox'

Michael returned to find Maeby with her mouth hanging open, his phone in her hand.

"Are you having an affair with her?"

"No." He replied suddenly. "I have not responded to any of her texts. Check my call logs, I have not called her in months."

"Have you ever had sex with her?"

He paused.

"Tell me!"

"That day of the meeting when she came onto me, I tripped backwards and either blacked or was concussed. I don't remember a lot of it,"

Michael had lifted his heavy head, feeling aroused but very hazy. He looked down to see his sister leaning over him. "What are…you…doing…stop!…"

"I knew you'd enjoy that." She'd smiled.

"Get…off…me…hospital…" He'd mumbled.

"You don't even know what she did to you?"

"I didn't want to know. Believe me. Please?"

"Why should I believe you? Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because I knew how angry you'd be, I didn't want you worrying, I said no, and Lindsay has a habit of obsessing over things then moving on."

"I will not let my mother ruin my life again." She shouted. "I'm releasing this all to the media." She stormed towards the door. "I will destroy her!"

"No, no you can't." He grabbed her arms.

"I'm going to see her. Now." She resisted him, until he let go.

"Maeby!..." He shouted, but she had already left.

_Maeby realised if she showed up to a Congresswoman's office in a rage she would have trouble getting through security. So she soothed her temper by reading a pamphlet she grabbed at the government reception desk on the way through._

Maeby bashed the up button on the elevator, and bashing the two button inside.

"Not a good day?" A genteel man in a brown hat asked.

"Did you know, from the widest gully, to the deepest trench, holes define who we are, and where we are going?" Maeby read loudly, laced with sarcasm. "And did you know the holes only natural enemy is the pile?"

_The man she shared an elevator with realised they were moving slowly between floors, yet he still tried to take a step as far away from Maeby as he could._

"Doesn't our government and our taxes do a fantastic job? I really needed to know this stuff."

The elevator dinged, with Maeby colliding through a staffer who was standing in the outside door jam.

"Excuse me, you can't just barge in." The receptionist growled.

"I'm her daughter and CFO to a multi-billion dollar housing developer. I go in now." She pulled open the door to the room marked her office.

The staffers flopped back in shock.

Maeby shut the door behind her, finding the huge office empty. Lined with wooden bookshelves, it was a majestic version of the typical American government building.

"Just a minute, need to get my eyes on." Lindsay shouted from a bathroom.

"No, now."

Lindsay walked out of the room, with one eye undefined. "Hi, Maeby, what brings you here to see your old Mom." She said brightly.

"You know exactly why I'm here."'

"Do I?"

"What the hell did you do to my boyfriend and why won't you leave him alone?"

"Oh, so he did tell you about him and I."

"There is no 'him and I', he's been ignoring you." Maeby's voice became louder and louder.

"That's not how he reacted that afternoon."

"How did he react?"

"He was moaning a lot. Then, he said something like 'stop', but I knew he didn't mean it, and…"

"You, touched him?" Maeby pulled binders from the shelves behind her and started hurling them at Lindsay, "You b[beep] f[beep] f[beep]…"

Lindsay ran and ducked behind her desk. Papers, a computer screen, and a lamp went flying from being hit by the missiles, soaring to the floor and crashing.

_Lindsay had her first opportunity to test her security system, and was testing it on one of her own family members._

After a dozen binders had been launched, security burst into the room, pinning Maeby's arms behind her back. "Wait." She became serine. "The rest of the family may be scared of you, Congresswoman, but I'm not. If you send just one more message, I will post all of them everywhere. Do you understand?"

Lindsay narrowed her eyes, and said nothing, but gestured her head to get Maeby removed.

_Michael had never seen Maeby's apartment. It was kind of fortunate, because the building was quite run down and its security features left a lot to be desired._

A siren continued to go off in the stairwell, as Michael dialled Maeby for the fifteenth time. He leaned against the front door to the building, when he heard footsteps coming towards him.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you…"

"That she assaulted you? I don't get it, why would you hide that from me?!"

He closed his eyes.

"Is the family more important to you than me? Are you still trying to protect them?"

"No." He responded firmly. "But if they go down in scandal, then the Bluth Company goes with them."

"That still doesn't explain why you didn't tell me! I'm wondering how I'm supposed to trust you. My entire life I've been around people that lie to me, how can I know you aren't one of them?"

_Michael was confused. He'd done what was best for the Bluth Company. He had tried to stop Maeby from finding out the truth about her mother, which he thought was the best thing. If she didn't know, it couldn't hurt her. But what really bound the Bluth company? Loyalty? Money? Or had it been all these years a scheme to run a family. A scheme to keep them all together._

"You're right, I can't believe I fell for it. This is dad's company, I've been martyring myself for years over it." He threw his arms around her and buried his head in her shoulder, and sobbed.

"Michael, he's trying to control you, like he's always tried to control all of us." She patted his head. "Well, he never really tried with me, but you and your siblings. Lindsay has thrown her liberal ideals under a bus. GOB is away from his magic, I mean, illusions, whatever."

_He looked at her through sad eyes, and kissed her. But she didn't kiss back._

"Come upstairs." She led him through the block door.

She was seated on the couch, gazing listlessly at the TV, her hand patting and stroking his hair as his head rested on her lap. His bleary eyes staring into space. He turned his head, looking up at her. "Maeby, you're all I've got. I can't lose you. What is it that will make you trust me again?"

Maeby pondered for a while. "I want some honest answers to questions. The answer. The complete answer."

"Okay."

"When were you first attracted to me?"

Michael stopped breathing, freezing up. "You were sixteen. You were in your bedroom, drying your hair with a hair dryer, and completely naked. And you'd left the door open."

Maeby's face lit up, then became incredulous, then back to lit up. "You bad boy. You just kept walking?"

"Yeap." He mumbled.

"You saw everything?"

"Yeah, I did."

She cracked up.

Michael smiled as much as he could through the embarrassment.

"Did George Michael talk about his feelings for me with you?"

"He did, several times."

"What did you say to him?"

"I said you were family. And that when we knew you weren't a blood relative, that you were both still 16. It wasn't a good idea."

"Did you being attracted to me colour that?"

"I tried as hard as I could not to think about it, because I believed at that stage the family should be kept together at all costs. And nothing would ever come of me being attracted to you. He was closer to your age, you two seemed to have more in common I guess. I mean, if anything were to happen."

"You never thought I'd be into you?" She looked deeply into his blue eyes.

"Of course not, I was over twice your age, and I always played by the rules, you always seemed to be pushing the boundaries."

She stroked his face, resting her fingers on his lips. "Don't opposites attract?"

He took her wrist, kissing her hand. "Sometimes. I have tried really hard in all of this not to push you into anything, because at the end of the day, you're my niece too. "

"When you look at me, do you see a niece, or a lover?"

He squinted at her for a while. "My lover, and my best friend. The most talented woman I know. Smart, beautiful, incredibly capable. I want this to last forever. No maybe's."

_Maeby had just maybe forgiven Michael, for a whole bunch of stuff. Including some of that stuff he'd just admitted to._

A warm smile spread across her face, "I love you Michael Bluth." And she kissed him on the forehead, continuing to watch the TV.

Michael stared at her, comprehending the significance of her finally saying the words. Finding words eventually, he replied, "I love you too."

She stood up, lifting his head and placing it on the sofa, and walked towards the kitchen. Michael followed her, finding a 90s wood panel kitchen.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"Yeah, sure."

"This place may be run down, but at least it's my own." She said, setting up the machine.

"You never felt at home in the model home?"

"There was never my own space. It was always me fitting in around everyone else. I used to go to work to get away from the people in the house."

Michael's face fell, "I didn't realise how you felt."

"Why would you, you weren't my parent and my parents couldn't care less about me." She looked at the linoleum on the ground. "still don't."

"Do you have any idea where your dad is?"

"I don't really care. He could find me if he wanted. I'm here with my own life." She handed Michael a coffee.

_Past the orgasm haze part of a relationship, Michael was seeing a side of Maeby he'd never seen before. The sweatpants and relaxing on the couch eating Doritos side. He was hearing more depth from her than he ever had, and was deeply fascinated._

"What do you have now that you never had before?"

"I like making choices from time to time. What goes on the wall, what TV show. No, actually, it's more about that I'm not living with people that couldn't give a crap. Self absorbed. I can't stand people like that."

"It gets really draining after a while." Michael mused. "Pleasing those type of people."

"I don't understand why you martyred yourself out for them all the time, seemed like a waste of time to me." She mumbled.

"I was a parent. I was also doing it to give George Michael the family I thought I couldn't give him on my own."

"You shouldn't have wasted your time on those freaks. You could have done so much more with your life."

"But I never would have gotten to know you." He beamed at her.

"Small consolation." She shrugged.

"No, no, no, no." He hugged her. "not small."

She released. "We should get to bed. Are you staying the night?"

"If I'm allowed."

"Sure." She walked him to her room, a small, windowless room with a double bed. "This is the main disadvantage with the apartment, no window in the bedroom."

"Just a small one."

_Michael having built homes for many years knew ventilation in the bedroom was important for health. So he wasn't surprised this cheap apartment had little to none._

He slipped into bed in his boxers, as she returned in a crop top and shorts, humming _Knights in White Satin_. She climbed in beside him, leaning over and kissing him. "Night."

"Night." He responded. "Wait, when were you first attracted to me?"

She turned over, "I don't need to tell you that, that wasn't part of the deal."

"You don't need to, but…I'm dying to know."

She smiled impishly, "I think it was the day you and GOB were wrestling on the side of the pool, I can't remember what over, and he won and pushed you into the pool. Your phone floated to the top and that's the first thing you thought about. But your entire suit was soaked through, and I could see your abs through your shirt, which you then took off." She bit her lip, ensconced in the memory.

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen. But you were unkie Mike, I just thought you looked hot."

He smiled, running his fingers up her arm.

"Yeah, this attraction thing has been going on for a while."

"But, you were a teenager. It would never have happened back then. Besides the fact it would have been illegal."

_Michael didn't need to instruct Maeby in having sex with minor. Maeby already had a citation for that._

"And even now you think I'm a duster."

She snorted. "I do not think you're a duster." She threw the cover off, tracing around his abs. "Or, you're a sexy duster."

He slid towards her, delicately sliding off her tank top straps, and pulling it down. "What is it exactly that…is nice with these?"

"You mean what George Michael does."

"Well, I was trying not to bring him into bed with us."

_That would be an interesting episode._

She lay down on her back. "I dunno, I think he uses his teeth a bit."

He started to gently run the flesh through his teeth, his other hand tweaking.

_Skillful tweaking was a Bluth trait, as George Senior was also quite skilful with his hands._

Lucille rolled her eyes, "Your father and his incessant tweaking. That's why I wasn't able to breast feed any of you."

Maeby murmured. "More?...less…that feels good." She moaned. He alternated, feeling her responding more as he increased the intensity.

She gasped from his touches, arching her back from the pleasure, starting to feel the waves wash through her. She moaned deeply, shuddering from the sensation and the high.

He slid up to his face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"That wasn't a freebie."

"No, it was for the woman who loves me." He ran his hand through her hair.

She kissed him, softly.

"But let's up that tally…total…count…" he slid under the covers.

She gasped and sighed, "Michael!"

_But the happy couple were in for a non-free shock. Bob Loblaw had contacted them to organise a meeting, about a hole the company were about to fall in._

"Your housing development sits on land once occupied by the Cuatro Tribe, an incredibly rare group that lasted three generations in what you now call, Bluth Valley. I am informed they had made their way up from down south, looking for land which to build a settlement, and thought this big chasm in the mountains would be suitable. But they were stifled by their leaders' obsession with fire pits which lead to most of the tribe having scarring on their arms, that most of the tribe wouldn't work, and that most of the males were more interested in each other than reproduction. There were two exceptions, who eventually had to abandon the camp, but their chronicles are well recorded on artefacts found on your site. They founded a festival trying to motivate the rest of the tribe to work, calling it Cinco de Cuatro. It produced the construction of a number of artefacts, most by the male members of the tribe, including tablets chronicling in crude drawings the entire…saga, with red dust and encrusted in gems, their version of glitter."

Michael and Maeby looked at each other.

"But they all perished when the two hard working members abandoned them, which were both to an extent forced out, as they were related. Even though back then, being related wasn't a problem. Per se."

"They sound like a really functional bunch of people." Maeby remarked.

"And what exactly does this all mean for the site?" Michael tapped his pen.

"You cannot do a thing on it until the site is cleared by all relevant Federal Bodies as having been evaluated and certified as not a culturally significant place."

"What if it is one?"

"Then you cannot build there at all, and all the existing houses must be removed."

"Do we get compensation if that happens?"

"My understanding is there was a visible relic on the edge of the site when you started construction, and that legally would have meant you'd have to have phoned it in for an inspection. Given you didn't, you have forfeited any rights for compensation you previously would have had."

"Wait, I walked through the site myself, and I did not see anything that would have suggested there was a tribe there."

_He hadn't. Because the relic had been in a hole at the time, face down, and appeared to be a rock. _

"So a lump of stone?"

"It was visible. The law doesn't distinguish between whether the culturally significant part of the artefact was visible if it forms only part of the artefact. They said it was in their 'Holes' pamphlet but they'd 'take any comments into consideration when pursuing alterations into the future'."

Michael threw up his hands in exasperation. "How can they hold us responsible for a rock that the relic could not be seen on?"

"Justice is blind, Mr Bluth. And as your lawyer, I'm telling you, so are both of you." He pointed.

_A house divided itself cannot stand, or at least that's what Abraham Lincoln thought. George Senior heeded his words when he built houses, as he barely used dividing walls, preferring partitions. However, this was not just a sinking house sans plumbing at stake, as George Senior was about to fall into a fast growing cavernous divide_.

Lindsay sat at the white table in the white room, fiddling with her iPhone, as George Senior folded and unfolded his hands. Michael and Maeby walked through the door.

Maeby responded with revolution about being in the same room as her mother.

Michael sighed. "Dad, why did you bring us here?"

"Meeting. Meeting, Michael. Need to ensure the company and your sister's interests are bridging the same gaps." He added, "and vice versa."

"I don't want to poke holes, but Lindsay has been antagonising the both of us." Michael stated bluntly.

"You're brother and sister, y'know, sibling acting out with each other normal." George shrugged.

Michael mouthed to Maeby, "Sweetie, I can probably do this without you, if you don't want to stick around."

"No, no, I'm not going anywhere." She threaded her arm through his, then sending a look toward Lindsay as she took a seat.

"I'd heard only Michael was coming to this meeting." Lindsay queried.

"I'd heard only you were coming, dad." Michael asked.

"I'd not heard anything." Maeby commented. "And I'm the one who was hurling the binders."

"Politics is about compromises, sweetie." George Senior laboured, "Sometimes we don't always get our way with policies, and we have to act differently."

"I've never seen actors who strip other actors and touch them while they're blacked out. Maybe I worked for the wrong film studio."

_She did. That sort of movie is more in the fringe industries, with such classics as Drunk Party 1: S[beep] in the heat, and Drunk Party 5: Hot at the Hatelove._

George Senior didn't react, rather responding, "Lindsay, I know you're struggling without Tobias."

"I'm really not." Lindsay replied, without blinking.

"But your brother is not the most right…space, when you're a Congresswoman."

Maeby slid Michael's phone to George Senior. He squinted and flicked the screen with his finger "If this gets out, you will have to resign."

Maeby raised a brow at Lindsay, who scowled back.

He put the phone down. "That land around the border, there's a lot of craters to be filled?"

_And so continued a boring meeting about building a wall to keep relatives of the laborers the company used out of the country. A meeting that got a lot more interesting when Lindsay had to leave from an unscheduled press conference, and Maeby knew her Grandfather wasn't going to hit or on her boyfriend._

"And the laborers will need that third permit from the city."

"With your sister involved in this, of course. We can't be using casual labor from a hardware store."

"Is she gonna play ball on this one?"

"I don't think she has much of an option."

"They're just text messages, Dad. Someone could have hacked into her phone?"

"I don't think she's got a leg to stand on, certainly you weren't..."

"Wait, you knew Lindsay had done things to me!"

"Well I was walking past."

"And you saw Lindsay there and me in a compromising position?"

"Well, you weren't moving much."

"And you just kept walking?"

"Yep."

"You saw everything?"

"Yeah, I did."

"You didn't think to bring this up with me…?"

"We're Bluths, Son." He patted Michael on the shoulder. "We're not fighters."

_George Michael inherited his defiant streak from his mothers' side. Just letting you know._

George Michael had thrown a fist into Michael's face in the garden outside Rebel's apartment.

"I mean, look at your uncle Oscar. He wouldn't even defend his country!"

"Buster did."

_Buster had sat in a shopping mall, playing what he thought was a video game. Instead, he had taken out the most civilians of any drone pilot, a record he still holds._

Buster had pulled at the joystick on the drone screen, cheering as the green and black figures changed, another hit.

"What do you think I could have done?"

"Stop her? That would have been my first response."

_As Michael had done previously._

Michael had gawped into Maeby's shared bedroom at the model home, then scooted away down the hall silently.

"It's not simple, you know, you kids and your games, I mean I don't know what the hip-in thing is. You are dating your niece after all."

_Dealing with his fathers' lack of consideration, Michael returned to the office to deal with another tribes lack thereof._

Seated in front of Maeby's desk, Michael peered at the pamphlet. "They delivered the pamphlets to you? How considerate of them."

"Luckily Bob Loblaw talked some out of them, I couldn't get them myself."

_Maeby was banned from the building, having tried to assault an occupant with paper-based projectiles._

Maeby had hurled the binder towards Lindsay's desk, just as the security guards had rushed into the room and pinned her arms around her back. She had thrashed around, shouting.

"Holes,"

_One which she was well acquainted with._

"and the Cuatro peoples."

"The information isn't online?"

"Bob said their timeline for that was "within the next eight quarters, subject to regulatory and bureaucratic timeframes." But you know, just trying find a way to get the fantastic Cuatro to stop take their performance art off our land."

"So they actually wore capes and thought they were superheros, huh?"

"Apparently it was ceremonial." She peered at the pamphlet. "A lot of the stuff they've dug up is art from one ceremony, these nomads were on neighbouring land too but tended to just up and leave their messes where it suited them."

Lucille strode into the room, tossing her feather coat and brown paper bag on the filing cabinet.

"Michael, I still can't get into the Balboa club. They say my membership hasn't been paid yet."

Maeby glanced at Michael.

"Mom, we're kinda in the middle of something here."

"I was too – lunch. And they said I couldn't stay! Imagine that, the mother of a high flying CEO unable to eat."

"Given that it would have consisted of several rounds of cocktails, I'm not sure eat is the correct phrase. We're just in the middle of something, you'll have to wait until I have time. Which won't be til next week."

Lucille glared at him, then Maeby. "Fine. But you're digging yourself in a hole, I won't hold back in telling investors I'm the mother of the CEO, unable to get her drinks from the most upmarket restaurant in town."

"I'm sure they'll be shaken by that, perhaps not stirred."

She left with her brown paper bag and feathers.

"Are you going to deal with that?" Maeby eyeballed him.

"Yes, next week."

"Good." She leaned her head on her hand, sighing loudly.

"Why don't you go home early, get some rest?" He suggested. "Rome wasn't built in a day, we can afford to take the rest of the day off, especially because we've had a long week. It can wait til Monday?"

"I guess so." She mumbled. "Should I come over to your place?"

"I'm having my condo bug bombed. You look like you need a quiet one, why don't we catch up Saturday?"

"Okay. Sure." Maeby raised her brow.

_Back in her apartment, Maeby caught up on her old life, and everything she'd been missing._

Maeby flicked her iPad. "Ocean Walker 3, huh?" She glanced up, hearing the door buzz, and went over, talking to the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Hey Maeby, thought I'd drop by. Are you busy?"

"No, just watching re-runs. Come up."

Maeby opened the door, finding Michael in a white tuxedo two boxes with bows in one arm, the other with red roses.

"What's this?"

"We've got a plane to catch." He handed her the boxes.

Inside, she found a long black sparkly gown, and a smaller box some black sparkly shoes with a kitten heel. "How long do I have?"

"We have to leave here in half an hour. You'll be staying the weekend."

"Where are we going?"

Michael beamed. "It's a surprise."

She looked at the dress. "How am I going to get my hair ready in half an hour?"

He laid the flowers on a side table and took her face in his hands. "You'll look beautiful no matter what you do."

"That's what men always say." She dashed towards the bathroom.

"With good intentions." He shouted back.

But Maeby managed to get her face on and hair up, and soon Michael had her out the front door.

Maeby walked down the stairs in the long gown, dark eyeliner and thick lashes, and her hair up with a few select curls framing her face. A white limo sat waiting, and Michael opened the door, gesturing for her to enter.

She clambered in, and when he'd climbed in, she threaded her arm through his and clasped his hand.

"You look stunning." He kissed her on the cheek.

"Thank you." She grinned. "You look very handsome. Why are you wearing white?"

"You'll find out."

_The limo wound the couple through the back streets of Orange County, eventually stopping at the promised airport. But instead of stopping at the passenger terminal, it continued._

Michael climbed out and opened the door for Maeby onto the tarmac, a small distance from jet.

_Maeby saw what she hadn't seen in quite some time- a stair car. But not the old one that plagued the Bluth Company in its days chased by government of all persuasions, one actually connected to a plane._

"A private jet?"

"I thought we could walk, but a jet would be more fun." He winked.

"and you're not telling me where you're taking me?"

"Nope."

_Maeby and Michael ascended a stair car, for the first time in years, not evicting or being a hop-on._

Maeby looked back over the tarmac, her eyes falling on the commercial jet, and then entered the cabin.

"Anything to drink?" the Stewart asked.

"White wine?" Maeby asked.

"Scotch on the rocks." Michael requested.

Seating herself in the light brown leather seat, she turned "You're not telling me where we're going?"

"No." he took her hand and kissed it.

The plane raced down the runway, Michael squeezing Maeby's hand as they took flight. "But you're going to like it."

She responded with scepticism in her eyes.

The plane chased the creeping night on the east coast, landing on a tarmac in total darkness. More doors were opened and more seats were sat on, until a familiar skyline loomed in the distance.

Maeby looked gazed out the limo window. "The big apple?"

He ran his hand along her thigh. "I'm not saying."

_As the limo passed a place for people with no homes, _

They passed a homeless shelter.

_a place of people with multiple homes, _

The car passed brutal financial company buildings.

_and homes that perched high in the air, _

Maeby looked up to see condos soaring high into the air.

_it finally arrived at the destination. _

The limo stopped outside an older off-Broadway theatre.

"This is lovely." She remarked, walking towards the main floor entrance.

"Ah-uh." Michael directed with his hand. "This way." He lead her up the stairs, and up another flight of stairs. Pushing apart curtains, he gestured for her to take a seat in their private booth.

"Michael, this has to be the nicest seat in the house." She grinned, and kissed him.

He handed her a program. "I hope you enjoy it."

She read the cover, 'Love Indubitily – the Musical'. "They didn't."

"They've kinda overhauled it a bit. It's rumoured to be nominated for a Tony."

As the curtain opened, an untraditionally beautiful woman sat in a green field.

"Oh, the original script leaked."

_The head writer had sold the entire plot to a Broadway producer. But when Tantamout discovered the similarities in the script they owned, and the critically acclaimed musical, they demanded the name be changed. To the original, so they could move more of the DVDs of the butchered screen version._

"Wardrobe are complaining again." The runner had reported to Maeby.

"Just tell them those boxes of DVDs will only be there for a little while longer."

_Those DVDs have not moved from wardrobe._

_The musical was a very straightforward production of the script Maeby had never had the opportunity to produce, as the bad decisions had been made before it came to her fixing desk. Too soon it was drawing to a close._

A series of men in white suits emerged from the fog, _Knights in White Satin_ playing.

"Oh, that is such a beautiful song." She squeezed his hand, harder the more excited she got from the number.

The strapping young man emerged in a white knight suit, singing soulfully. The heroine from the opening number rose from the floor on a rock, the knight serenading her as the chorus line crooned.

As the curtain fell, she turned to him. "You're my knight in white satin, aren't you?"

He murmured and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in tight.

"We have a hotel room."

"Sounds like the place to be."

They walked into the dark hotel room, Maeby walking over to the window, Upper Manhattan a rolling expanse of twinkling lights carpeting across the skyline.

"Michael, this is the most beautiful view I've ever seen." She gasped.

He joined her, running his arms around her. "This is the most beautiful view I've ever seen."

"I love you, Michael."

"I love you too."

"Why all of this?"

"Lots of things, but, the company promised you'd get rewarded for all your work…well, I promised, and you've wound up in your windowless bedroom apartment making phone calls begging investors for money we then syphoned off in a scheme you'd just dismantled."

"And be my handsome knight in white satin?" She kissed him gently.

"But there's something I think I can save you from."

She stared intently into his blue eyes, trying to decipher what direction this could be going.

"I was going to suggest that you move in with me."

Maeby pursed her lips and exhaled.

"I just want you think about it."

"You really want me around twenty four seven?"

"Of course. I lived with you for three years. You were the least difficult Bluth, well, bar George Michael. But he…anyway. I know you want your own space, I don't want to push you into anything, but I think it's the next logical step. For us. Because I love you."

Maeby gazed at her knight in white satin, her heart in her mouth. The intensity of his blue eyed gaze melted the thoughts in her head, as she heard the chorus strains of _Knights in White Satin_.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, the Cuatro tribe get on the local news._

John Beard grinned. "And in other news, a trove of treasure was discovered of a local tribe by a local family. The Bluth family, known for their drunkenness and disorder, have discovered a tribe which wiped itself in similar decadence. More after this."


	4. The Pied Island

Michael stroked her cheek. "You don't have to answer now. We're booked here two nights."

"I know." She unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket, stripping it off his shoulders. She then removed his shirt, leaning up to kiss him, her tongue finding the contours of his mouth. Her hands felt around the rippled muscles of his front and side, creeping up his sides and pulling his head towards her. She guided him around and he lay back, her easing off his pants off while he reclined. She slipped her dress off her shoulders, it dropping to the ground, shedding the rest in the same pile.

Michael watched his svelte young partner with the moonlight throwing light across her body, fingers grazing her thighs as she climbed on top of him, her curls bouncing on her shoulders as she removed the clip. "We've never done it in the dark before."

"Is that better or worse?"

"I always love seeing you when we make love."

She leaned over to the side table, turning on the lamp. As she returned to straddle him, he reached in to rub between her thighs, causing her to moan.

"Especially when you look like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you enjoy me pleasuring you. It's very sexy."

"You're not getting bored?"

"Why would I ever get tired of you?" his fingers traced the pink tips.

She sat back, sliding on top of him. "We've been going for a while."

He felt the rushes from her light frame riding him, "This has never felt better."

_With the whole of New York spreading into the distance, the lovers felt on top of the world._

As she exhaled and leaned down over him, he wrapped his arms around her and rolled her onto her side, kissing her delicately.

"I just thought maybe…you'd want to try something different. By now."

"You want to?"

"I'm open to new things. I don't mind."

Michael murmured to himself, then stood up and lifted her from the bed, carrying her in the dark. He flicked the switch with his elbow, finding themselves in an enormous bathroom with a spa, and lay her inside on the edge. He set the tub filling, poured in some liquid from the bench, and returned to the room with a bottle and two glasses. He handed her a half full one and slipped into the spa beside her, pulling her onto his lap.

As the tub filled around them, he took the puff from the side and generously squeezed the ooze into it, and started lathering around her torso.

"Nice?"

"Yeah." She responded half-heartedly. She felt him run a hand between her thighs and start stroking. "Yeah, this is a bath I could get used to."

He smiled mischievously, and felt behind him, before his hand diving back under the filling water.

She gasped and arched her back, grabbing onto him.

"More?"

"Yes…Yes!"

He brought her chin towards his with his free hand, kissing her deeply, his desire rising by the second, as she clung to him. He let go of her chin, and slipped down to go inside for the special spot.

Maeby withered in his arms, her body shaking like a leaf from his touches, panting moans into his mouth. "Michael!" She gasped over and over between breaths.

"You're so beautiful." Michael kissed her neck and chin.

Maeby shuddered twice, flailing in his arms as he held her against him.

"I went twice, how did you do that?"

Michael laughed and smiled, turning off the water and setting the bubbles. "I think you might be underestimating me."

_She wasn't. Michael was good at many things, including calculating probability. And having calculated the high probability he would need to be able to offer something different to Maeby, he had just been madly trying bone up, something else he was good at. _

His lips and tongue met hers hungrily as he went inside her, his hands tweaking and pulling, his mouth catching her groans, his arms catching her contortions as she bounced on top of him. She broke off and he lay his head back on the edge of the spa, watching her smooth back from the bottom of his vision.

Maeby breathed deeply from his touches and the pleasure from her gyrations, enjoying his strong arms wrapped around her.

He closed his eyes and focused solely on making the moment, and the feelings surging through his body, last forever.

She exhaled, "It's feeling different…this time."

"I think because I feel so good." He staggered. "Oh, Maeby…"

As he reached his end point, he guided her shoulders back onto him. "Are you there?"

"Almost…"

He reached down and rubbed until she let out an almighty cry, simultaneously as he flopped backward himself in bliss.

She shuffled next to him, pushed to start the bubbles, and leaned in. "We have some amazing sex."

"I'm glad I'm giving you a good time."

"It's not all you."

Michael grinned cheekily, then added, "I love making love to you."

"Why do you think we're 'making love'?"

"Because I love you, and every time we do it I feel it through every ounce of my body."

"Sex is love for you?"

"In the past with some women, maybe not. But with us, of course, isn't that what it means to you?"

Maeby took a swig of her drink. "And that thing under the desk?"

_Maeby knew she had him there. _

"You have no idea how good that felt."

"Muh-huh." She raised a brow, and moved to the opposite side of the spa.

"Okay, would you have done it if you didn't love me?"

_Michael knew he had her there._

"I wouldn't go there, but also, what about you spending tens of thousands of company dollars bringing me here?"

_Maeby knew he had him there._

"What about you getting arrested in a government building for launching paper-based projectiles?"

_And so on._

"What about risking getting punched, in the face, for continuing to date me?"

He grinned. "To be with you, and I confess, I did it because I love you. Now, what are you going to do?"

Maeby shrugged again. "I see."

He dashed over to her corner of the tub, and Maeby evaded him by slipping around, which he then countered. She went under his arms and around, narrowly missing his scooping arms. But his footwork outdid her, and he bear hugged her from behind and fell forward, as they both sunk into the bubbling waters.

_As the bubbles burst as the sun did over the horizon, the lovers set off beyond their bubble to see the city. At a time that had suited them._

Micahel and Maeby walked into the main hall of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, only to find the enormous queue snake before them.

"Oh, it's the rare civilisations exhibition."

"Well, I guess someone's gotta care about holes." Maeby mumbled.

"Perhaps we should wait and see? Can't hurt?"

_But two hours and four families later, it did._

Maeby engaged stretching manoeuvres. "Is there another one on the list?"

"The Museum of Modern Art is not too far from here."

_Which is where they went. And found the queue less daunting._

"I'm starving. Did we eat before?"

"We were doing other things." Michael beamed. "I think the food is on the top floor."

"I hope something is." Maeby gazed with slight contempt over walls of photos of various naked torsos.

As they traversed the landing, Maeby stopped dead.

"Oh my gosh, it's the soup cans! Look, Pea and Ham! And Cream of Mushroom! You know how many actors had copies of these things…"

Michael smiled, wrapping his arms around her, inhaling her scent.

_As Michael gazed at one of Andy Warhol's most famous creative expeditions, he clutched tightly in his arms his proudest life expedition. Admired from afar for many years like the soup cans that adorned the wall, who had let him take her many hours from home, cupping his arms around her waist, yielding to his soft kisses on her neck, and how he created a sense of wonderment in a woman whose default response was sarcasm. And the wiley woman of many smarts who had tried so hard to avoid dependence on the decedent disparates of her life was enjoying, perhaps too much in the back of her mind, being nuzzled and caressed by this man of greater life experience than herself, who gave her a sense of security._

Her smiling eyes met his over her shoulder.

_Which, if it was an illusion, as she kept telling herself, kept getting buried behind his blue puppy dog eyes._

Barely a breath from his, she waited, entranced in his gaze.

His eyes vacated to the neighbouring space, and he stepped away, and walked into the next room. "C'mon." he whispered.

_The walls were strewn in the swooshes of the impressionists, a style not remote from mainstream galleries, but one which MOMA relished._

"They're lovely." Maeby's eyes wandered the room, slowly taking in the space around her. She then turned and gasped.

The crowd parted before them, and before their eyes hung _Starry Night_ by _Van Gough_.

"It's so beautiful." She clasped Michael's hand, fingers kneading his calloused palms.

_As they stepped towards it, the glorious swirls of blues jumped from the canvas, an inspired starry, starry night, framing the darkened field below it. And the lovers left the halls to a sky of blue and grey of the sunny day._

"Any idea what you want to do next?" Michael queried.

_They swung and clutched mutually as they walked gaily under one of the ornate bridges of Central Park, finding themselves slowing at a junction, and stopping near a tree as a gray squirrel darted among the limbs of the tree. _

"Wow, one of those squirrels, I haven't seen one of those since Massachusetts." Maeby marvelled.

"You miss it?"

"Yeah, some of it. I mean, California is nice but, I have so many memories back there."

_Memories, like small grey rodents scampering around tree branches, can be deceiving. _

A young Maeby had sat neatly on the edge of her bed in the baby pink party dress, reading a book.

"Maeby, can you come here?" Lindsay had stood in the door. "Everyone's waiting for you at the party!"

She'd eagerly followed her mother out the front of the large Colonial style house, when Lindsay then handed her a sign. "Hold this sweetie, people don't know where to park!"

Through her legs had dashed a small furry creature, which Maeby had only caught sight of disappearing into the bushes.

_But she had grown a little older, and a little wiser, and had learned a bit from the glimpses of the environmental fundraisers her mother hosted._

The rodent dashed down the trunk and zoomed towards them.

"Rat!" Maeby shouted, yanking Michael sideways, finding themselves tumbling to the ground, Michael on top.

"Are you okay?" Michael quickly pulled her up, looking all over her.

"Perhaps Massachusetts wasn't so good after all."

Inspecting the gashes on her arms, "Looks like that'll be enough rats for us for one day."

_And the end of the day's indecisiveness, so Michael made a decision._

Back at the hotel, Maeby went in first into the room, Micheal shutting the door and slipping his wallet onto the sidetable. Maeby returned, gazing up into his eyes.

"What?"

Her lips parted, tongue wetting the edges.

"Perhaps we should have a shower." He eyed the grubby scrapes on her arms.

Maeby turned, pulling all her top layers in one swoop, Michael trotting behind her to the bathroom, his face lit up.

_The shower raining down upon them, he gazed down wistfully into her eyes, holding her against him. She lightly kissed him, pulling away, causing him to break into a grin. _

"You have the most beautiful smile. If I haven't said that before."

He turned the water off, and they alighted. She dried his torso, arms, and legs, lovingly rubbing and caressing.

"Your turn." He dusted her gently with the towel, dabbing her scraped arms. After a moment, he swooped in and scooped her up, carrying her to the bed, laying her legs over the edge. He then kneeled down, his tongue starting to explore.

"Michael…" She moaned, singing in octaves, over and over again. "You're so good…I love you Michael…"

Michael murmured through his activity, causing Maeby to gasp and swallow between the breath.

"I love you…keep going…" she squealed from the sensations, her high rising with every repetition, until she shuddered. "I love you Michael…"

Maeby felt very naked as Michael stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and gazing at her open and unclothed body.

She pushed up with her hands, kneeing down in front of him.

"No, um, can you turn around, on the bed."

"Of course."

Her legs spread apart, her smooth back and mop of hair contrasting against the bedcover. He ran an index finger down her spine, kissing a trail, and up over her generous hips. She panted in reverie.

"Are you going to?"

"You want me to?"

"I want you to make love to me, Michael."

He hesitated, and slipped his hands around her ribs, planting light kisses in her shoulders and neck, pulling her up, trailing slowly around her neck, chin, as she cooed with pleasure, and holding his open lips from hers, gazing into her wide, softening brow eyes.

Within her, she felt the anticipation building by the second, her lips diving onto his, seeking, yearning kisses, noises from the back of her throat going with them.

He guided her backwards onto the bed, climbing on top of her, and butterfly her cheeks, nose, and mouth with kisses. Staring lovingly into her eyes, he slowly entered, then closed his eyes, engaging in a drawn out kiss, keeping locked on as he built his rhythm.

Her body felt electric as his calloused hands gently stroked and danced over her flesh, involuntary moans escaping from her throat. Her heart pounded all the stronger as his hands traversed her rib cage, her mouth widening, tongue gently seeking his, kneading and playing with the tip, for what seemed to be forever, her fingers gently digging into the hard ripples of his back.

As the energy built, she moaned louder and quicker, and he broke off the kiss, curling an arm around her. He sighed and smiled as she slowly opened her eyes. "My beautiful Maeby. I love you."

"I love you too, my Michael." She whispered back, then curled backward further, moaning from ecstasy, again, and again, her head spinning from the deep sensations.

He kissed her flesh as she continued, finding her pink tips with his tongue, sucking and nibbling.

"Michael, Michael!" she shouted as her body shook in his arms, and he returned to her lips, moaning heavily as he felt his release, calling her name into her mouth.

She looked up at him. "That felt…amazing. I don't think it's ever been so intense before."

"That's what it's like making love."

She looked away, and he rolled them onto their sides.

"Seriously. Is it the speed, or…"

"A bit…but it feels that way." He felt her heart pound through her ribs, fingers pressed into the skin. "Are you beat too?"

"Oh yes, master of sex, you've made me all beat." She winked at him.

_He did have that one coming from a few hours earlier._

"I can't help it if I'm good." He retorted.

She then wrapped her arms around him and nestled into his chest as he flattened onto his back, as they drifted into sleep.

_For the busy business travellers to New York, day turned to night, and night to day, as Michael awoke to the rising sun, blinded by the light._

Maeby and Michael stepped outside the doors of their hotel, _The Brighton_.

"Damn, left the card upstairs."

"Yeah, can't go far without that!"

_This business trip needed to be entirely on the card, after all._

Maeby's phone rang, and she hit the silent button, letting it ring out. A few seconds later, it rang private, and she hesitated before she answered. "Hello?"

"Maeby, hi. Can you talk?"

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Are you with him?"

"Who?"

"Him. You know who."

"Yes…"

"Where are you? It sounds noisy, are you in LA?"

"ahh…"

A truck passed by, blasting from its speakers, "New York's finest coffee, bagels, hotdogs, between 8th and 9th avenue on 43rd!"

"New York?! What are you doing there?"

"Um…"

"Are you sharing a hotel room?"

_George Michael couldn't contain his reactions and let it be known over the line, which made the conversation even more comfortable._

George Michael made a gagging sound. "No wait, I really don't want to know that. Just don't tell me anything."

"I wasn't going to. Have you set a date with Rebel yet?"

"No. Maeby, do you know how far from home you are? From the family?"

_Maeby's heart sunk, and from feeling on top of the world not five minutes earlier, noticed how the world seemed to be towering over her, shrunk to an ant in a neighbourhood of giants._

"George Michael, please, work it out with Rebel, okay? Don't do this."

"I'm not the one doing anything to anyone."

Maeby listened to the engaged signal before removing the phone slowly from her head.

Returning through the glass doors, Michael exclaimed, "Got it!" He noticed Maeby. "What's wrong?"

Maeby remained hunched over. "Nothing. Where are we going?"

"Rockefeller."

"Sounds good, we can do the [Beep] tour too." He reached out to grab her hand, which she folded into her arms.

"The [Beep] tour? Which will cover such shows as [Beep], [Beep] and [Beep] [Beep]?"

"Wait, how come other networks are being censored, we're not on FOX anymore."

_Considering how this episode opened and continued for quite a while, we're as confused as they are. _

As they stood on top of the world, gazing out across the city, Maeby listlessly stared out through the panes of glass. Michael came up behind her.

"You were on the phone before."

She didn't respond.

"Look at me."

She turned around, her eyes betraying any confidence she tried to keep.

"It was him, wasn't it?"

She again didn't respond, and didn't need to.

He turned, taking his phone out of his pocket.

"No, wait, don't, you'll make it worse."

He gazed back at her desperate eyes. "He's my son. Apart from the fact he's gone and upset you, I raised him, and not to be like this." He reacted sternly.

_Michael was a man first, but always a father second._

Maeby disappeared in the other direction.

Michael listened to the phone dial, and hit voicemail. He then tapped and swiped his screen several times, before re-dial, and the call was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son."

"Oh dad, you're coming up as private."

_Like Bluth son, like Bluth father._

"Funny that. So you talked to Maeby earlier?"

"Yeah, what of it?"

"She seems rather upset, I would hate to think you'd said something deliberately."

"Of course not, I just told her, that she's an awful long way from her family at the moment."

_Of course Michael knew what that meant, as he knew the impact it had on someone living in an emotional shell for most of her life._

"So if she had recorded it on a Dictaphone without telling you, that's the entire conversation?"

"What's a Dictaphone?"

"It's a recording thing."

"Why wouldn't you just record it on your phone? And Dad, I hate to be 'that person', but I'm an adult, and you aren't the conversation police."

"And I hate to say you are 'that person', but you're already in a relationship, why are you going around upsetting others now? Rebel chose you?"

_Choices are a bit like sandwiches, or in New York, Bagels. Sometimes you'll make your own, and sometimes, someone else will make one for you. For a price. In his youth, Michael was often asked to make choices for others, and never was he happy making them._

A young Ron Howard had walked up to the banana stand. "Hi, give me whatever's popular."

A younger Michael had frozen, eyes dashing between the two choices he had to make.

Years later, an older Ron Howard in a 90s cap had walked up to the stand. "Give me whatever's popular."

George Michael had frozen, but from the corner, Maeby had reached over, dipped a banana in chocolate, and then placed it in Ron's hands. "It's nuts that aren't popular. Hey, aren't you Ron Howard?"

"That's my sandwich to make."

"You make whatever sandwich or banana or whatever suits you, but don't upset my girlfriend in the process. Bye, George Michael."

_Michael found his girlfriend in the roof's house of glass._

Maeby stood staring out the window, ignoring Michael's approach.

"He was out of line."

"It was my line."

"If we don't draw any line, he'll keep going over it. I just want you to be happy."

"Why does it have to be this way..." Maeby murmured.

"I can't bear to see you like this. Why don't we go find something to eat? Sandwiches?"

"I'm not that hungry, you might need to finish mine."

"I'm always up for finishing each other's sandwiches."

_The tourists found themselves in a New York diner, sampling New York's finest sandwiches – the pastrami on rye, and of course, the New York spin on a banana- the banana split._

Michael and Maeby stared at the icecream-laden goop doused in chocolate sauce and dripping in nuts.

"They do focus on this city being the 'big apple'."

"They need to work more on their other fruit." Maeby poked at it.

"Maeby…I know something's still bothering you. We need to talk this through, you know."

She turned to him on the bench, "All that stuff before, I know that's not you. But generally, like with the desk thing, I don't know why you get so crazy some times. It's like you're a different person around me? The adult Michael disappears and I get someone who seems, younger than me almost."

Michael stared into the distance. "I thought you would have said the generational gap was the problem."

"No, perhaps us living together for years mean that gap never opened up."

_Or Michael was always so distracted with the Bluth Company and the Bluth Family he never had time to entertain hobbies._

"I don't know, I'll think on it." Michael's phone beeped. "You know, I wish this thing would leave me alone, just for a weekend."

"Wouldn't mature Michael stay glued to it?"

"But did mature Michael ever have a girlfriend?"

"He did, once or twice?"

"Wow, I think you remember those times better than me."

_Tragically, part of Michael wasn't being sarcastic._

Michael dug into the mucky banana. "We should at least try it?"

"You first." She instructed.

He took the spoon to his lips and savoured the goop. "It's no Bluth banana, a more nuts would really tide it over."

"Nobody likes the nuts. A fair number of people rejected them."

"So that was the answer." He mused.

_Answers among questions are hard to find, but sticking firmly to answers certainly helped the Bluths, as Lindsay had found out on her campaign trail._

At the ragged campaign HQ desk, Lindsay sat between the mountains of binders.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand, ma'am." The staffer had prompted.

"What do they want?"

"They want you to 'consider' a native territory declassification program."

"Who are these people?"

"I think they have something against love."

_Lindsay had read the brief. Apparently they ran a small establishment called the _HateLove Hotel_, and couldn't get permission to start building another establishment close to the Nevada border due to existing land claims, which had meant they had let certain sections of the film industry in to use their building as they were 'leaking' money. Or so they said._

"Meaning?"

"You'd be making sacred land, non-sacred."

"And the local first peoples?"

"They wouldn't be enthusiastic about it."

_At that point in the campaign, Lindsay was down to her dimes, and counting her nickels. They hadn't yet called in the Bluth bailout, and strategically, needed any money they could get. Yet Lindsay knew, if she was to make an inch of political mileage, some things had to be sacred._

"No. Reject it."

_Which was fortunate, as it would have cost her a fortune._

Lindsay sits down at the table of people dressed glamorously, but with touches of feathers and leather in the huge underlit banquet hall.

"Lindsay Bluth, I'm Topena, from the Chenut tribe."

"Great to meet you."

"It's excellent you agreed to be on the first nations table for tonight."

_It was excellent, and it was also news to Lindsay, especially as she'd just eyeballed a full table of journalists nearby. Lindsay's PA wasn't entirely focused, as a temp not being paid by Lindsay's campaign, as there was no money. So small details like being on a table of First Peoples would fall off the radar. But her staffers would then do their jobs._

A staffer slunk up beside Lindsay. "Ma'am, forgot to mention, we also had a call from Tobias."

"Did it go to voicemail?"

"Of course."

"Good."

_A future politician has to have their priorities right. As did businessmen. Michael and Maeby found themselves in a dark bar, later in the evening, running up the company tab._

"At least this place has some decent alcohol." Maeby stirred her cocktail. "And somewhere to sit."

_Michael and Maeby had some trouble finding a bar that would either serve cocktails, or seats, and Michael's dancing was amusing to Maeby…the first few times._

Michael had flailed his arms while his knees went in random directions, with Maeby trying to compensate by bopping her joints to the beat of _Alive_ by _Goldfrapp_, as his movements had earned stares from around them.

"Michael, Michael, why don't we get a drink."

"No, it's okay, I can dance with you if you want, man, I'm really getting into it here! "

_He was certainly getting into something._

Maeby had glanced around, seeing the stares he was getting, "No, seriously, it's okay."

_But Maeby had convinced him to look that one bar further, and they had found something slightly more homely with some decent alcohol. It was New York, after all._

"I like the music here though."

Michael leaned around the booth, curling his arm around Maeby. A familiar song about _Phoenix_ pumped through the speakers around them in the darkened bar.

"I thought about your question. I feel like I never have before, I have all this energy. And the weird thing is, I look in the mirror and see this old man, and I don't necessarily recognise myself at first because I feel like I'm your age. I'm feeling alive again. You know, being near you is like an escape from the world, when I'm near you I know I'm coming home. You're my Phoenix."

"Hot and barren?"

"Yeah, it kinda disappointed me too."

Leaving Phoenix airport, Michael had stumbled around in the blinding heat, and noticing a cab straight in front of him, went to open the door. He then quickly recoiled his burning his hand on the cab door, and dashed back inside of the cool airport.

_And Michael hoped Maeby was only one of those things. He knew she was at least one._

"Well, the first time." He smiled to himself.

"I think I know what you're trying to say though. I know how much moving in means to you." She sipped her drink.

"It's totally up to you. I would never want to drag you into a home you wouldn't want to be a part of."

"That's not it…it's complicated. But I know you understand."

He lay his palm over hers.

_While the joins were being strengthened in New York, the cracks were starting to appear for the Bluths back in California. Or at least one crack reappearing._

Lindsay affixed her arms to her hips, standing behind her desk. "There was ten million dollars from one donor, and you didn't mention it to me?"

"It was from our company. And it was twenty." George Senior shuffled his weight.

"You do know there are laws around donations, dad?"

He shrugged. "What's a few million between friends? I mean, you can't even get a good yacht for that money nower days…"

"It's just one small issue. I have a journalist on the phone."

"He sounds like a crackhead, I wouldn't take him seriously."

"He's really cracked some big stories, I don't think it's wise to leave this alone. We can't just snap our fingers and make it go away, twenty million is bound to crackle. If we don't do something, something will pop." She picked up the phone. "Hello Goran."

"Hello Congresswoman, how goes the family? Still making out?"

"It's been quite full on. How are you, breaking big stories there?"

"Sure. Nothing quite as juicy as the Bluths doubly in bed with each other though."

"Sounds like a tabloid writers' steamy dream. But the funding isn't coming from that direction."

"Looked like simple arithmetic to me, Congresswoman."

"Oh Goran, are you really gor-en to crack anything by talking to me? Our accountant makes brilliant pie charts, showing the full ins and outs of our pies, pies we give to IRS, and from all of those, most of that pie is from a huge array of sources."

"Well show me your figures, if truly these are pies worthy of discussing."

"They're not. You keep cracking away, Goran. Bye."

A knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

The wirey receptionist stuck her head around. "Group of party members on the phone, for the western branch four o'clock policy discussion meeting."

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "How useful. Come in and set my end to mute when I say so."

"Couldn't they disendorse you?" George Senior queried.

Lindsay leaned around as the woman fiddled with her desk phone. "I'm not taking advice from a group of nobodies when I've earned fifty million from various interests." She nodded at her staffer. "How are all of you? I'm really excited to hear your ideas. How about you all go around the table, and one by one talk them through and we do discussion after?"

"Sure!" The voice replied over speakerphone.

Lindsay nodded at her staffer, who again fiddled with the phone. "Get this whole funding thing out of the media. Run something about the burial ground."

"And poison the well of your funding?"

"They'll be fine. "

_They were fine, in the other sense of the word, but they were half way across the country, and no-where to be found. Until the national bureaus picked up on the story._

"National first peoples groups would be turning in their graves, as the controversial Bluth family build over a sacred American site and attempt to fight Washington's attempts to keep our nation's heritage…"

_Which Michael would have known had he been checking his emails, something he'd sworn off for the weekend as he swooned with his girlfriend instead. That was instead and until they were located by the gaggle of reporters that are based in New York City, some of whom are based in the [Beep] section of Rockefeller. I can't believe we still need to censor that._

A long lens camera zooms and focuses on Michael and Maeby wandering down a street holding hands, as noise around the camera indicates it is part of a throng.

"And we have just located the CEO of the company, and will be seeking a comment."

George Senior watched in horror from the master bedroom's bed, and quickly dialled his phone. "They're on TV…You told Michael, right?"

"Yeah, I emailed him. I haven't heard back, though. Haven't they gone somewhere remote?"

From the throng, one reporter took the lead. "Michael, Michael Bluth! Why is your family building over Native American heritage?"

Michael gasped, shellshocked, and quickly released Maeby's hand "The Bluth company denies any impact on Native American heritage, we have stopped building pending the decision of the government."

"That's not what the association has said, in fact they say you've desecrated sacred land."

"We completely deny the allegations, we have been above the law at all times."

"Complying with the law." Maeby added.

"Yes, really complying. Compliant." Michael held his arms behind his back.

On the screen, Maeby climbed into the taxi before Michael joined her. "And Michael Bluth has left the scene with his daughter…"

George Senior looked on in shock at the penthouse TV. "[Beep]"

Lindsay looked on in awe. "Fantastic." She swivelled in her desk chair towards her staff. "We've bought another week."

_But chaos was not only to come from one direction for Michael Bluth. In fact, another Bluth had designs on him._

Rebel walked into the modern living room, her hair down and curled. "What do you think?"

"What if you tied it up?" George Michael eyed the look.

"And added a fringe! Of course!"

George Michael sat back deep into the sofa, his legs splayed apart, shoulders hunched forward. Rebel returned with a bouffant and her red curls cascading over her shoulders, a prominent fringe, pedal pushers and six inch wooden sandal stilettos.

"I gotta show this look to the girls!" She flopped down onto the couch, crossing her legs, and flicked her iPad screen.

"Women's shoes…maybe I should go into them." George Michael mumbled.

Rebel swiped her screen. "Sweetie, should I have a white dress for the wedding? Or a red one?"

"Whatever you want, I'm sure it'll be great." George Michael sipped a beer, staring at the TV.

_George Michael's unparalleled enthusiasm for his current situation had caused him to take on one of the Bluth family's favourite past times- alcohol._

The news channel of Michael and Maeby holding hands on the streets of New York, replayed over, and over, and over again, filled their living room, and the level of rage inside George Michael.

_For George Michael, he still had an axe to grind, and was feeling between the Bluth ego and self pity that his father, the one who was now causing his problem, had tried to prevent wearing off. _

He crushed the beer can in his hand. "Look, Michael and Maeby are in New York at the moment."

"What are they doing there?"

"I think he took her there. I don't know if she knew where she was going."

"That's…kinda creepy."

_When you put it that way._

George Michael leaned back into the couch. "I'm just worried about them, that's all."

"Well there is quite an age gap."

"She's so young, yeah. I never hear good things about those kind of relationships, you know, TomKat, and Woody Allen and his wife. And there are guys that seem to 'upgrade' their wives…like Rod Stewart."

"Yeah, I didn't realise how many examples there were! And I mean, he's like full-on commitment, I remember when I was dating him, he wanted to get serious really quick."

_As did Rebel at the time, but memory is like a rat stew- it doesn't improve with age._

"I think he would have wanted to have had kids right away."

"Yeah Mom wanted to go for her career, but…"

_Michael had never discussed when he and Tracey had decided to have children with anyone. Think about it, it's kinda weird to be bringing up certain performance issues. Being involved in a theatre troop at the time being an understudy for Peter Pan, he had little time for trying for a baby. Regardless of Michael's performance or eventual lack thereof when he was kicked off the cast, Tracey was a woman who married Michael quite young, knowing he wanted kids._

"He does stuff like that, you know."

"That is just so sad. I just wish there was something we could do."

"Possibly there is."

"What?"

"Maybe you should talk to her. You know, as you, she'll listen."

"Well, I have to do something."

"Rebel, you can do anything." He touched her arm.

"Aww, you're so sweet!"

George Michael smiled.

_He really was. Especially when he was getting his fiancée to try to talk his ex out of dating his father. The Bluth Family had operated on unspoken dynamics – that Michael was the compass, and the others could be pulled into direction they all needed to go. But as the agitator, he was suddenly repelling them, and all the members were flying in different directions. So as Michael had to deal with multiple rats in the Bluth ranks, he was about to find out that the good news of his relationship to Maeby could not be contained for long._

At her office desk, Lindsay's phone rang. "Goran, what can I do for you?"

"I thought there was no incest in your family, Congresswoman."

"What could you be talking about?" She replied acidly.

"Your brother and daughter were seen holding hands in New York. And more."

"More?"

"I'd rather not have to throw away this phone, it's all about as appealing as rat stew. And all the major news channels are running shots of them holding hands."

"Sounds like they're having a good time over there, must be something in the air. Or the water? Maybe there's your story!"

"Tell me why I wouldn't run this as front page news."

"Oh no, don't do that. Please don't do that." She echoed sarcastically.

"What's your game, Congresswoman?"

"I don't have a game, I'm just concerned about my family."

Goran mumbled, and hung up.

_So the distraught Congresswoman delivered the two lucky relatives who were about to take more than one for the team, the good news._

Lindsay redialled. "Hello!"

"Lindsay, how has it come to be that every major news outlet in the country is going into bat for a tribe that couldn't even keep themselves together?"

"I don't know, brother. But listen, between whatever you're doing to my daughter and being on a small island swarming with journalists, the rest of the country is about to hear about that 'arrangement'."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Love. Mutual admiration. Respect."

"Wow, there must be a lot of money involved. Carry on. Me and my girlfriend here, for your information, will just keep running your major donor."

"You keep telling yourself that, Mr CEO. Buh-bye!"

"Oh I wi…" He heard dialtone.

Maeby watched on as her boyfriend squirmed from his in-law cum sibling's phone call.

"What's the story that's got you so delory? What's Mom done?"

"The party may be over in New York. The national media know."

"What do we do? Deny?"

"Yep."

"What do we do now then?"

"I don't know. We have to go back soon, we could go for a walk outside the hotel?"

_Facing the marching army of rats in the ranks, Michael was again about to learn the cost of indecisiveness. The media vultures awaited their prey, with Michael and Maeby walking straight into the venue._

A media crush lay in wait to greet them, a patchwork of shiny equipment and human beings.

"Michael, Michael, what do you have to say to your investors?"

"Michael, how many sites were disturbed?"

"Mr Bluth, will you be stepping down now?"

_The pair promptly turned on their heels and retreated, finally making a firm decision. Of sorts. _

In the sanctuary of the elevator, Michael stated, "We're going back to Balboa Bay. Now."

Maeby leaned in and kissed him. "It's kinda sexy when you're so decisive."

_What did we say about the benefits of being decisive?_

"Well, let's make like Peter Pan and fly away."

_But perhaps being decisive is not the only thing you need. _

Maeby rolled her eyes. "Let me fix this." She dialled her phone. "Yeah, airport. Now. Out the back of…"

_And with their belongings in toe, Maeby did what she had learned from her many years with the famous- escaping the clutches of the media. _

"C'mon." She instructed Michael, as the trudged toward the kitchen, suitcases in toe. "Hi, I need to get out the back way, we have a cab waiting down there?" Maeby held out money.

"Room 932." Michael added.

"Certainly." The staffer winked.

_But they knew who they were dealing with, and the New York vultures would not miss a scrap to scavenge._

"And we're going live to the back of the building now, where Michael Bluth and his niece and girlfriend are trying to escape."

Maeby and Michael dashed into the waiting cab, taking their luggage with them into the back seat, the TV crews rushing the front of the cab.

"Oh, you're those guys." The Hispanic Cab driver swerved, narrowly missing oncoming traffic.

"Yeah, what of it?!" Maeby demanded, losing her composure.

"Nothing, nothing, follow your heart sir and ma'am, y'know, you guys like each other, it's all that matters."

"Thanks." Maeby replied sharply.

_Maeby had never been good at taking criticism. It may partly be because when her grades were bad at one school, her parents would just switch her to another. But Michael had taken on board one of her tricks._

He leaned forward. "Sir…I know you have priorities and things going on, but I just really need you to get me and her to the airport, as soon as possible." He handed the guy a handful of notes.

_This time, Michael's decisive action saved him and Maeby from a fate worse than an unscheduled media conference – a media ambush. Because the operator at the cab company knew the famous Bluths had booked the cab, information which made its way to major news outlets, who bidded to get a slice of pie in derailing the ride. But Michael's quick thinking and cash had quashed their bid, and ensured they were only going one way._

"Thank you, Sir."

_And but one block from the ambush, the cab turned south, instead of east, safely ferrying the hottest properties on the east coast on their way to their plane. And even more repeats of that shot that had warmed George Michael's heart._

"We believed we were going to see them enroute to the airport, but have seem to have lost them there, just to fill you in, the CEO…"

George Michael threw an empty beer can at the TV.

_The two slightly more haggard lovers relaxed into their plane seats, contemplating the reception that could await them at the other end. Fortunate for them, private planes don't have schedules as easy to decipher as regular planes, so the big money Michael had paid to awe Maeby would prevent a number of aww's to investors, and they put their heads together on a multi-faceted strategy to deal with the media fallout._

"Deny?"

"Deny." Maeby nodded.

_And then set out returning to base- Michael's office. Their audience had unfortunately, laid in wait, like scavengers on a lonely rat stew._

As the two climbed in, the cab driver remarked, "Oh, you're those guys."

"Yeah, what of it?!" Maeby demanded.

"Nothing, nothing. But you saw the [Beep] tour, right? My daughter wants to see [Beep] being made, do they include that?"

"Oh yeah, they shoot the [Beep] [Beep] and is Jimmy Fallon there, we saw him." Michael replied.

"But not [Beep] [Beep] [Beep]?"

"No, 'fraid not." He nodded.

"And [Beep] [Beep]? I saw her asking you questions on the TV, was she nice?"

"She was sure shouting loudly." Maeby added.

The cab stopped short of the front of the building, a media throng waiting outside.

"We should just tackle this. Throw everything at it."

"Yeah."

Michael approached the front of the building, Maeby by his side.

"Esteemed colleagues of the media, it has come to our attention that people are claiming myself and my niece Maeby Fünke have been seen cavorting in New York. I know there has been rolling coverage of footage of us holding hands…"

_George Michael might have posted an abusive message on Facebook regarding that, having had seven Girlie Girl Beers to encourage him._

"But let me assure you, and the investors, that Maeby and I are work colleagues. We had to go to New York on business, to research and ascertain new directions for the Bluth Company, a company we have both worked far too hard on, to squander on a frivolous rendezvous. Myself, and this office, deny that there has been a casual romantic rendezvous between us, and restate that we are, colleagues."

_Fortunate for Michael, everything he had said, was true, albeit by omission. It was also fortunate that the wheel on Goran Crack's car had done just that, and it wasn't spinning him anywhere. Michael's next spinning of his story was also to be next successful._

"Regarding us holding hands, Maeby found the city quite daunting at times, and as her Uncle, I felt it was responsibility to comfort her."

"A woman who has produced ten films?"

"Who had never been to New York." Michael restated.

"Even the kid in Home Alone managed New York." Laughed another reporter.

"There seems to be a higher than average rodent population in New York, and she found that…concerning."

Behind the news desk at five, the bubble-headed bleach blonde flicked her eyebrows. "Modern day pied piper of Hamelin? Michael Bluth claims his grab-assing of his niece is due to New York's rat population. New York rejects the claim, and says the Bluths aren't welcome back. "

_George Michael and Rebel were as confused, as how a man who was trying to escape the rats, controlled them as the Pied Piper had._

Turning away from the living room TV, they exchanged looks.

_This, however, reminded Rebel to meet with Maeby, and the two met to discuss the concerns. _

Rebel watched Maeby approach the outdoor table at the Club, sporting a smidge of makeup and looking very refreshed. "Maeby! You look fabulous!"

Maeby gazed at Rebel in her red bouffant hair and bright lipstick, noticing bags under her eyes and a slight pallor. "Thank you. You look…nice." She sat opposite Rebel.

"Anyway, how have you been?"

_The two women compared stories, until it came down to talking about the two men they had in common._

"…And I know you never did that with George Michael, but it's just different."

_Maeby actually had, and it wasn't._

"I'm sure it is."

"But sweetie, I'm really worried about you." Rebel leaned forward. "I'm a bit older than you, so I have more experience, I guess, and a kid, he's great but…what I'm trying to say is, but I can see what's going on there. You know Michael will keep pushing you to move forward, I mean that's what he kept trying to do to me. He's an older guy and they're all the same…TomKat, Woody Allen, love him but still with his adopted daughter? And Rod Stewart and his wives, he remarries young women every time? You know, the woman before me that Michael dated. Then I am a bit older than you. And…" She nodded at Maeby.

Maeby winced slightly.

"You're young, with your entire life ahead of you, no kids, no commitments…I know him as well as you know him, and Michael, is well, Michael."

_Maeby hadn't had her options put as starkly as Rebel had outlined them, with two very different pathways to mull. Maeby Fünke had always looked for the easy way out in life – to school, to work, to relationships. And she'd always found them. But suddenly, wading up to her waist, possibly her neck, she was too far in to just wade out easily, and like a drowing rat in stew, she knew she had to make some kind of decision. But it wouldn't be until others were made, at a hastily called family meeting. George Senior seemed to be the only one talking to her side of the room, and had offered them a chair. A dining chair, but somewhere to sit, nonetheless._

At the penthouse, Lindsay, Lucille and George Michael sat on the long sofa, with Rebel and Buster on the side.

"No, we're fine." Michael insisted, Maeby by his side, standing closest to the door.

George Michael sunk forward, a beer in his hand. Lindsay clutched a short glass tall on clear liquid, and Lucille had her customary cocktail. Buster had a box of juice at the ready.

"You don't look fine, you're still attached to my daughter!" A tipsy Lindsay launched from the alcohol-influenced trench, a trickle dripping from the side of her glass.

"At least I'm not leaking everywhere and destroying the family company!" Michael fired back from the dry trench.

"The media saw you, both of you, do you really think they're going to accept it?" George Michael shouted. "I mean, who tries to start relationships with their relatives?"

"Heir Heir!" Lindsay shouted.

Rebel stood up amid the chaos. "Woah woah woah!" she waved her arms. "Look, I don't know if it'll make any difference if I say something, and I don't know what's going on with you guys, and I don't know why we're all fighting, but I genuinely apologise." She tossed her bouffant back, shifting her weight on her wooden wedge sandals.

_Given Rebel was not the problem, her apology was fairly meaningless._

George Senior then took to chairing the meeting. "This is exactly why I brought you all here, because I didn't put all my effort into this family so we would wind up having drunken fights. Fights, sure, I mean that's to be expended..."

"Dad, I have tried, I have tried my whole life, y'know and I just for once…"

"Michael, we'll deal with your…" he glanced at Michael and Maeby, "arrangement, some other time. But right now, we have a company that could start haemorrhaging money, and a Congresswoman that could find herself out of a job. Lindsay, you need your brother. Michael, you need your sister."

"Because as the Bluths we stick together?" Michael asked sarcastically.

"Because the Cuatro tribe never inhabited that land. They inhabited neighbouring land. Me and Oscar moved all their remains to that land twenty-five years ago so we could run tours. But nobody cared about a family of dysfunctional drunk layabouts."

_An experiment successfully replicated twenty years later._

"So we just left them there. No, what Lindsay is going to do, is get the best team of geologists in the state to look over the land, find that out, and then just guide them to where the bones ought to be. You get the land back, Bluthton is back on schedule and Lindsay is seen to be looking after American heritage."

"What would we get out of this?" Lucille demanded. "I still can't get into the Balboa Club."

"And Michael will get us back into the Balboa Club."

"No, come on…!" Michael protested.

"Daddy, I won't do a thing for Michael, he has disgraced this family." Lindsay glared at Michael.

George Michael shouted, "Hit the nail on the Peg!"

"But if you ask, of course I will."

"There's daddy's girl." George Senior smirked.

Michael shot her a dark look.

"What are we going to do about," George Michael pointed at the two lurking in the passageway, "That?"

"I went on TV and issued a further denial." Michael insisted.

"How can you be running the company if you're distracted by this?" George Michael queried.

"Sweetie, Ganki needs access to the Balboa Club Bar again." Lucille gestured. "So you keep running your one the way you run…your own, and leave Michael to the family name."

_She meant cash cow._

"How much longer do you think this can go on, Michael?" Lindsay demanded.

"I don't think anything, Lindsay. If you weren't so busy ratting me out, you'd see that this has gone beyond the thinking stage, and as much as you try…"

"Get to the point, Michael." George Senior interrupted.

"They seemed to have swallowed it. I say, we play it by ear."

_Lindsay knew differently, but if she spoke up about Goran Crack and his threats, she would have ratted herself out, as well as the impending doom the company could be facing. _

"Sounds like a plan. I'm in." Lindsay smiled impetuously.

"Good that we're on the same page." George Senior marched around his army as general. "Lindsay, whatever the hell happened this week, let's not hear about it again. George Michael," he grabbed the can from his hand, "sit up, drink something sensible, and behave like a Bluth." George Senior handed him a bottle of vodka.

_Funny, we didn't need to beep out that reference. Maybe because it was FOX, and not [Beep]. And there it is again. _

"Lucille,"

Lucille smiled at George Senior.

"Stay beautiful."

_And that was that. While Michael was shielding her from the insults, Maeby had been doing some thinking. And she knew what needed to happen next. Michael retreated to the office to lick his wounds from the cat fight in the penthouse, Maeby in toe._

Michael stared at the wall from his desk chair. "That went well."

Maeby paced his carpet. "Yeah. You folded on the membership to the Balboa Club."

Michael exhaled, despondent.

"But, it went better than Ganki's 60th? And the third Bluth Foundation fundraiser for GBA?"

_Which had ended in a riot._

"That's true." Michael slumped over his desk and sighed. "The media hate me, the family hates me, my friends hate me…It's like the whole world is closing in. Perhaps I should resign."

Maeby clasped his forearm. "All those people don't matter. We'll be fine."

He looked up and smiled through sad eyes.

"I'll move in with you."

He brightened, and took her hand, kissing it.

"We'll make our way through this. We'll stick together."

"Rome wasn't built in a day."

"It wasn't. But one thing."

"Yeah?"

"If you keep saying that, I'll have to strangle you."

Michael grinned mischievously.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael remembers further fragments from the day Lindsay and him met the floor of her office._

Michael leaned down, finding a receipt in his top drawer, stating he was dropped off at the model home.

Michael had been laid in the back seat of the cab by the driver, the background of the cab zooming through various bits of California, Balboa Bay, and eventually the desert of the model home. Around him, numerous passengers enter and exit the cab, one drinks a beer, another two make out, one younger one poking Michael with a stick, until the driver asks exasperated,

"Sir, you must tell me where you live?"

"GOB is stuck in prison! I must get him! 1 Lucille Lane, Newport Beach…Good Sssurr…"

"Why do all Congressmen offload drunks onto me." He muttered.


	5. Bluth and Burn

_Michael Bluth was helping his girlfriend, Maeby Fünke, move into what was his, but was then their apartment. Maeby had been resistant to the idea, but the enthusiasm by the family for the relationship, particularly her mother, had assured her of the correct decision._

In the penthouse, Lindsay was seated between George Michael and Lucille on the long couch, and nearby Rebel, with George Senior standing opposite, Michael and Maeby in the doorway. The slightly inebriated Lindsay had pointed at Michael, "Daddy, I won't do a thing for Michael, he has disgraced this family."

Later, George Michael had gazed at the pair. "What are we going to do about," he had pointed at the two lurking in the passageway, "That?"

"That's the last one." Maeby placed the box down in Michael's hallway, closing the door. She stopped in the middle of the tiny kitchen, dotted with appliances, encircled a wraparound white bench.

Michael joined her, and lay his arms around her neck. "You don't know what it means for me to have you here. Living together, working together…what could go wrong?"

"Well, if I can do more to help you out, I figure it's easier me being here."

_It may not play so well with the media and their deflections about the nature of their relationship, but it could certainly helping plan those deflections to the media. Further deflections, that might need to be planned, as they were living together, helping plan deflections._

"It's so great, just you and me." He smiled.

_Michael Bluth arrived Monday morning, the customary eight and a half minutes behind Maeby, ensuring she arrived before her boss, and he gave all the laggard staff enough time to arrive._

Michael departs the elevator, with one balding man in a grey suit rushing from the stairwell towards his cubicle.

_He was due in the conference room for an important nine o'clock, and arrived to find his party already in situ._

"How long had you known that we were up s[Beep] creek about the burial ground, Dad?" Michael demanded.

"Well, I'm just a lowly member of the public, Michael, I only found out through the media…"

"And you didn't think to tell us it was all a sham?"

"Well, you seemed to have it all in hand." His eyes bounced between the CFO and CEO.

"And that's another thing, what was that show that you put on at the Penthouse?"

"I can't be there condoning such arrangements Michael, you know, there's complex layers in there…"

"Nobody asked for your approval, dad." He leaned forward, "But it's best to leave certain sleeping dogs lie, right?"

George Senior's face strained, "Yes, agreed. How can I…help?"

"I need a place to…" She held up her hands, ""live", I was thinking that could be the Penthouses' address?"

"I'm not sure how Lucille would feel about that…"

"Maybe you'd have to be a mole, then." Michael suggested.

_Bluths had always been good at being moles, both heredity Bluths,_

A younger George Senior had shaken hands with the grey suited man in the bland government office.

_And Bluths joined by other means._

Annyong had listened through a headset and listening devices in the wall cavity of the Penthouse, "Annyong?"

Later, Tobias had trampled over the miniature model homes GOB had set up on the hillside of Sudden Valley, in a plot to fool the Japanese investors that the Bluths had wisely invested the funds they had received, while the Japanese investors watched in horror.

"Yes of course, and I could all be your alibi. How cozy." George Senior laid it on thick.

"Lindsay mentioned to me you were dealing with issues around the donations, you have sorted that out right?" Michael asked.

"Oh yeah, it's all completely on board. I mean above."

"Good, well, drama should be over for the moment."

On the TV, Jim Cramer arched his fingers on his scalp, surrounded by his set. "The Bluth Company? These guys, it's a bit like a chaotic soap opera at the moment, between that Congresswoman daughter and whatever the hells going on with the senior management, best to hold off. I'm downgrading them to my fastest drop yet, "don't buy"."

Watching the apartment TV, the blood drained from Michaels face, and he buried his head in his hands.

"We've crashed, haven't we?" Maeby brought him over a mug, extending it to him.

"Yeah. Yeah, we have." He took a sip.

"Well…I guess we're still moving forward." She asserted. "Best to not ignore this, so we look like we're still in control."

_Because that's the next best thing._

"So, you're gonna front the media tomorrow, say while we're never glad to have scepticism from some pockets of the market, it allows us some flexibility to hone our long term growth strategy, and that we expect to meet all annual targets as previously announced."

Michael's mouth hung open. "Can I…have that written down?"

"Sure."

_Something had brought back the bite in Maeby, and like the movie Jaws when Michael snuck out of his bed to watch it, and ended up sleeping under the bed, Michael felt a combination of admiration, and fear._

As the characteristic music played on the TV, the young Michael had sat crossed legged with the blue light of the TV bouncing off his face, squealed.

"Aw come on, it's clearly fake." George Senior had eased into the sofa behind him.

"I've also added a paragraph about our fiscal growth strategies being better aligned with a flatter stock prices. You'll be right with it?" Maeby looked up.

Michael nodded slowly. "Why don't you do that bit?"

"I was thinking I needed to get back to doing the infomercial, and given I'd be doing that, I thought we might not appear in the same camera shots, at least for the moment."

_Especially with a CGI hotel room or hot tub background._

"Might be for the best."

_It would have been just the cracker footage one journalist needed. Goran Crack, his dented car, and crushed ego, was on the warpath. _

Goran stood in front of the counter at the worn car rental place. "I need to rent an SUV."

The obese man flicked his cigarette. "Not got none, sorry."

"Why not?"

"Yorkshire Pudding making contest, need them all for the cavalcade or somethin'."

Goran moaned. "Where is the closest place which rents SUVs?"

The man slowly pried himself off his seat, edged his way over to the computer, and searched. "Ah, it's LAX."

"Forget it." He waved his hands. "Just get me a regular car."

_Michael faced the media, and additionally had held it somewhere he thought they might not go – the Bluthton site, at 9AM, giving them only twelve hours notice. But Michael was to be disappointed._

"…meet all annual targets, as announced."

The throng of statewide machines and people immediately burst into action.

"Michael, Michael, where is your niece today?"

"Ahh, the CFO is working diligently to help steer the company forward."

_Maeby was, when she found the office had descended into chaos._

Staffers ran around, some with arms in the air, chaos around the cubicles.

"What's going on?"

"The Bluth Company has been downgraded, the boss is going to start picking people to fire!" One staffer panted.

"What would make you think that?"

_George Senior had always loved a good downgrade, it had given him an opportunity to reduce staff._

A young George Senior had gazed forlornly at the woman in the 70s suit. "Sorry, you're going to have to go. Budget cuts."

A middled aged George Senior had shook his head at the window cleaner dangling by one rope. "Sorry. Budget cuts."

A mature George Senior had shrugged at the man in his cubicle, "Just can't keep you, budget cuts," amid a sea of empty cubicles, the only light being on in reception.

Maeby shook her head, "No, Michael won't be cutting staff."

The woman gave her a funny look. "How would you know?"

"Ahh…I don't think he will." She shook her head unconvincingly.

"No?"

_But Maeby was on the back foot, and went grasping for words_

"We know each other really well."

_As Michael was about to be. Goran's medium sized car had gotten bogged on the way on a section of road that the rest of the cavalcade then detoured around, and he had left it to collect his bicycle so he could ride to the press conference, missing all the cars along the way that could have given him a lift._

Goran bowled through the crowd, the journalists flattening around him. "Mr Bluth, I was on a flight with your son, George Michael Bluth, from LA to Phoenix, where he said aloud that you were having sex with Maeby, that is, your niece. How is your current relationship with your son, and why according to him, are you having sex with his cousin and your niece?"

_The crowd went deathly quiet, and Michael went grasping for words_.

"My relationship with my son is as good as it always has been."

"And what he said about you and your niece?"

Back at the office, Maeby watched the conference live on TV in horror, as Michael shuffled uncomfortably in his predicament, standing behind TV graphics reading, 'POSSIBLE INCEST: PIED PIPER AND BLUTH COMPANY OVER THE CLIFF?'

"I think he might have been confused."

Maeby gulped as she watched the TV, her hand over her mouth.

"You are calling your son a liar." Goran intimated.

"No, no, of course not. George Michael is a good and honest man, a man I am proud to call my son. But I believe he is confused."

"So you are not having sex with your niece?"

The deathly silence continued among the 50-strong crowd.

"Maeby is my CFO."

The noise returned to the crowd, and Michael pointed to another journalist, avoiding eye contact with Goran.

Back in Michael's office, Maeby stared at the wall. "Did we know about him? Why hasn't he brought up the 'George Michael saying-thing' before? That happened a while ago."

"Could have been looking for the right time. I don't know." Michael pondered.

_But it now was Maeby's time to front the media- a different type of media._

Michael answered his phone. "Oh, oh right. Great. No, ah, just one moment." He put his finger to his lips and put it on speakerphone.

"We were thinking Mr Bluth that it could be a fantastic opportunity to excavate the sacred land and have the entire community involved."

"And who gave you this idea?"

"I can't recall. But we'll have the entire Bygone Burials team there. The thing is, as a mentioned, the P.[Beep].[Beep] team can't be reformed so quickly, so we have been speaking to WeeBBC about bringing over their Bygone Burials cast over."

"Wow, sound like you're really putting bangers in mash over this one." Michael winked at Maeby, who rolled her eyes at his witticism.

"So we'll have their trucks rolling in tomorrow at…9:00AM."

"But that's…fifteen hours away."

"I heard from a journalist your company could manage with under twelve hours' notice."

"Of course, we can." Michael comprehended, "Maeby will be there tomorrow."

Maeby mouthed 'no' and waved her hands back and forth.

"Great. See her then."

"Wait, what are you doing?" Maeby challenged him.

"You said he we couldn't be in the same shots, surely TV production is more your gig than mine."

"They're the Bygone Burials crew, the biggest group of dweebs either side of the pacific."

"You'll manage." He winked at her.

_And this saga of holes was about to open up another surprise._

The stocky English lady gestured to the door of the small conference room. "Maeby, we are very blessed today to have with us the Fat Computroller of WeeBBC, Rita Leeds."

_And Maeby came face to face with not only a woman who had bested her in the entertainment industry, it seemed, but was also one of Michael's ex's._

"Aww hey!" Maeby's eyes lit up. "Rita, so lovely to see you!" She threw her arms around her.

"Maeby! So great to see you again!" She squeezed her. "Working for the Bluths now?"

"Yeah, it's all very interesting. You're the boss of the WeeBBC now?"

"Yes, on the weekends I do the Big Britain half, we bought them out with some money we had lying around! I thought, just one TV station is boring, why not one more?"

_Actually, just three more servicing ninety million people, plus radio, a cable news network, and world news. _

"I heard a funny story about you." Rita's eyes widened, "that you were having sexual relations with Michael!" She went into a hollow stare at Maeby, for what seemed ages, then started hollering.

Maeby joined in, albeit in a more strained manner.

"Aw no, you and Michael, my ex-boyfriend, I remember you two around each other, it's total bollocks I tell everyone!"

"You keep that up." Maeby nodded and smiled.

"I tell everyone, 'what's so wrong about cousins being together, my parents were, and look at me!'" The CEO threw apart her arms, in her red tartain suit that was inside-out and grey bowler hat. "Everyone always says to me, 'Rita, you are at least very pretty', I mean, if more families had babies like my parents, then there'd be a lot of at least pretty children."

"Right on. You've got your crew ready to film here tomorrow?"

"Oh no. They have to pass through Wee Britain's diplomatic channels. We have to negotiate their entrance into this country."

"How long do you think that'll be?"

"Oh, a few weeks."

"Why so long?"

"They have to get a Wee Brittan visa, and the man at the British Business Bureau said I would need to be willing to lose twenty pounds. Uncle Trevor said I was fit enough."

_And on cue, Mr F stepped from the shadows._

A strange voice lilted "Mr F".

"Trevor, nice to meet you. Maeby Fünke." Maeby struck her hand out.

"I know. Rita has told me all about you." Trevor looked her up and down.

"How…lovely." Maeby grimaced.

From the distance, someone started shouting for Rita.

"Ooo, that's for me!" Rita exclaimed.

Maeby watched Rita skip away. "She's doing really well here."

"It's a bit more like the Paul the Octopus than Rupert Murdoch, bless him." Trevor gazed up to the sky.

"Yes, what a fantastic man." Maeby locked her palms together.

"How are you and Michael going?"

"Bluth Company is great, except for this issue I'm talking to Rita about."

"That's not what I meant."

Maeby got slightly flummoxed. "I don't understand what you mean."

"Come off it, I saw Rita's parents together, you don't think I can't pick intra-family relationships from three metres away?"

_That's about ten feet in American._

"Nothing's going on," then she added, "…and even if it was, we're not technically related."

"I knew it. Well, just be careful about getting a bun in the oven, if you are related." He walked off.

_Maeby continued to ponder buns in the oven, and sought out a Chelsea bun to address her concerns._

Maeby picks at the oddly shaped pastry, walking out of the WeeBrittan shop.

_She then brought them up with Michael._

Michael and Maeby were sat up on their bed, Michael reading a bound wad of papers, and Maeby having just placed hers on the nightstand, turned to him.

"Michael, have you ever thought about what our kids would look like?"

"Well, um, not really." He answered suddenly.

"Do you think they'd be pretty, like Rita?"

"Well…I think they have a good chance of having my eyes, considering that me and dad have them, they'd be brunette, but what kind…I don't know, there's a good chance straight-brunette, considering my and dad's hair, with the mouth, I think small, as you and Lindsay and Tobias and mom have small mouths. But I don't know about lip shape and ears, I can't make my mind up on that." He mused.

Maeby nodded slowly, then replied. "They might be blonde like Mom?"

"I did the stats on that, it was like one in twenty."

"Of course, makes perfect sense." Maeby looked anywhere but back at him, quickly kissed him on the cheek and laying her head away from him. "Night."

_Having heard all that, Maeby was just happy to crash. But the Bluths were about to get crashed, about a crash._

George Michael sat in his utilitarian office, comprising of just a chair and a desk, staring out into the bleak yard. His phone interrupted his vacant stare. "Hello?"

"George Michael, Goran Crack. You lost your car, have you?"

"Well, see, there was a car..."

_His had been impounded at LAX for double parking, as he'd misread 'thirty minutes' as 'thirty days'. Then, a car of the same make and model, which had been in the impound lot for some time, had come up to be crushed, but they officers at the lot failed to check the licence plates. So technically, George Michael didn't have a car anymore, he had a cube. He still had thirty days to move his cube._

"But why, what's this about?" George Michael queried.

"Your family trying to stop the Michael and Maeby story getting out?"

_George Michael had never needed to show more restraint in his life, and had to summon all the strength, that ironically, his father had instilled into him. _

"What story?"

"I heard you on that plane. Why won't you come clean? Is that why you crashed into my car?"

"I don't know how I could crash a car, when I drive I use my fiancées."

"Doesn't it bother you that your father has taken her from you? That he took her to New York, of all places? To a private booth of a special showing of a Broadway play? To a five star hotel?"

George Michael knashed his teeth until his rage exploded, and he threw the phone against the wall, falling into the one non-utilitarian object in the room- a fish tank.

_And as Goran went flying across the room, he did as many other people he'd pursued wished he'd done earlier – he went to sleep with the fishes._

"Hello? Fuuzzzzzzz" the screen flashed and went dark as it sunk down into the pebbles.

_Which meant, George Michael was now without two of _Balboa Bay Window_'s top ten items for the burgeoning business man, as he was living in with Rebel, leaving him with a total of one- a clean office. And George Michael didn't have everything he wanted, he at least had a clean life. Which was more than was about to be said for other Bluths._

Michael and Maeby lazed on the bed, both with computer tablets in hand, the sunlight streaming in.

"I wonder if this building would let you buy two apartments and then knock a wall through. What do you think?"

Maeby raised a brow. "Why would you need to do that?"

"I just have a feeling we'll need more space one day. Soon? Who knows."

The doorbell rang.

"I don't think I told mom or dad we were here, must be a neighbour. I'll get it." Michael slipped a robe over his shoulders, tying it just before he got to the door.

_But it wasn't just his relatives who knew how to find him._

In front of Michael stood a man of similar height, bald as an egg bar two stripes of dark brown hair around his ears, and round MD glasses, in a black and white animal suit.

"Why look who it is? It's my favourite brother, Michael!"

"Hey, Tobias! What are you doing here?"

"Well, I called the Bluth Company and said I was Maeby's father, and they were extremely helpful."

_So Tobias did what he normally does to casting agents to get addresses, he becomes a mole. Or given his outfit, closer to a badger, the British version of a mole._

Tobias pokes his head out of the dumpster, holding a white piece of paper up. "Huzzah! Wait, there's a lot mushrooms in here…mushroom, mushroom."

"What are you there in that?" Michael dusted the filthy white and black suit.

"A badger."

"Badger?"

"Badger."

"You know, having you here makes it feel like its 2003 again. I'll let her know you're in." Michael walked back to the bedroom.

"Who is it?" She whispered.

"It's your dad."

"Does he need money?"

"He asked for you?"

"Must not be money then." She tied her robe.

Maeby walked into the kitchen. "Hi Daddy, what's been going on?"

"Oh sweetie! Nothing much. You're living here now with your uncle?"

"Yeah, for a little while." She nodded, and winced slightly.

"Well, I have to ask a slight favour. Daddy was caught trying to sell his sausage and his landlord doesn't take kindly to a person with two convictions, so he needs somewhere to stay."

_Tobias hadn't given up on his dream of staging a musical with Austerity, but needed to rub more than pennies together to do it. So he had taken to selling sausages in a place which he'd been previously picked up before – outside Disneyland._

A group of security guards had leap on Tobias, the sausages, the hotplate, and Tobias going flying.

"My sausage! It's burning!"

"You do have two bedrooms here? We could bunk together!" He gripped both her arms.

"What about Mom?"

"Oh, I haven't' seen her in months, she doesn't respond to my texts. I guess she's preoccupied."

"Dad," Maeby started.

"Maeby…" Michael gestured to their bedroom. She joined him outside earshot of her dad. "At the moment it sounds like your Mom is ignoring your Dad, but if they could get back together, your dad would have somewhere to go and your mom…will have him back."

Maeby grimaced, and they returned to Tobias.

"So as I was saying, I don't want to be an intrusion, a stick between stones if you will, but could I bunk with you, Maeby?"

"Dad, you can stay in the spare room." She slipped her hand through Michael's, "but not forever."

"I wouldn't want to be an intrusion, you can stay in the room too?"

"I sleep with Michael in the master."

"To save room?"

"No, he's my boyfriend."

"Oh, your close male friend, I get it."

_Tobias hadn't been paying much attention to anything much beyond Tobias for quite some time, which is why when he saw his daughter had made national news with her uncle, he hadn't quite wondered why._

Tobias had looked up from the dingy bar at the wall-mounted CRT TV, and with the audio off, saw Maeby and Michael climb into a car in New York. He turned, the screen behind his head changing to them holding hands.

"My little girl, maybe Michael and her can help me wet my whistle."

From a back room, someone had shouted, "Shut up!"

"Partner." Maeby stated.

"Business partner?" Tobias queried.

"No, ah…"

Michael raised a finger. "Tobias." He then dipped and deeply kissed Maeby. "Like that."

Tobias froze for a few moments, then said, "Oh, blow me…down, I've walked in on a love nest. Working and living together, how…romantic."

Maeby straightened herself from the sudden embrace. "Yeah, Dad, meet my other half, Michael."

_The inlaws exchanged and awkward hand shake and backslap, slightly different to how her mother reacted to the news._

Lindsay had looked out the large campaign office window, arms folded. "How long have you been f[beep]ing with my daughter?"

"Well, Michael, I know you're not the type to dip a nib and run. So I know I'll be in excellent hands while I stay here." Tobias grinned.

The couple stared back at him.

He continued, "Well, you're planning to stick with this condo, because of your sturdy hands in business sense."

"Wow, you haven't changed a bit." Michael remarked. "Why don't you put your stuff in the spare room?"

As Tobas settled in, the couple discussed the arrangements.

"Fine, my dad can stay here."

"I think you're doing the right thing." He patted her on the shoulder. "He is family."

_But who knows what that means anymore._

"Did you have to go quite that far?"

"Sweetie, he's your father, was he going to get it if I'd just kissed you on the cheek?"

Maeby nodded as she straightened the bed cover, and plonked herself down.

"We could do dinner here tonight, catch up with him, just the three of us?"

_So Michael went to embrace the situation, going to help his brother-cum-inlaw._

Tobias watched Michael unpack the small, round white suitcase into a drawer. "Thank you, Michael, it's a great help."

"We all do what we can."

"And by the way, how is that head of yours?" Tobias poked at him.

"What do you mean?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Well, a few weeks ago, when you appeared at the model home, you said you'd been salted. I was just wondering, have you done that ten day cleanse I suggested? Twelve glasses of water and that executive retreat I recommended?"

"Wait, you saw me that night?"

"Yes, a taxi dropped you off."

Michael thumped the front door, in loose control of his functions.

Tobias opens the door from the inside. "Well hello my dear brother!"

"Tobisss….I've bunn 'salted…ssooo tierrrrd…" Michael staggered in.

"You sound like beef jerky!"

"No…'ssalted! 'salted!"

"Too much salt? Well, I was just talking to someone at the bar where I work, and he suggested I go on this wonderful executive retreat, which he said would completely cleans my body, and they serve this fantastic lemonade. Maybe you could go representing the Bluth Company?"

"Take me to the hop-it-all…hop-it-all…"

"Where?"

"Hop-it-all!" Michael slumped on the sofa.

"I'm not sure what you want, but, this has hops in it." Tobias had handed him a brown bottle.

Michael had drank the liquid, then curled up.

"Well someone needed that!" He had patted Michael on the head.

_So former MD Tobias had left a concussed and passed out Michael alone on the couch of the model home._

"And you didn't think to check on me?" Michael raised an eyebrow.

"Back in medical school, from the little I remember of it, with the wild parties every night,"

_That Tobias heard through the walls._

"a sleeping patient was always a good sign."

_Tobias moved into talk therapy for a reason. A gentle evening of talking, however, were interrupted by yet another knock on the door. _

Maeby opened the door, her expression less excited than before.

"My little niece! How are you!"

"Oh, hi uncle GOB. What brings you here?"

"Well, with Tony Wonder outed as straight, I can get back to my act. To my non-Christian act." He looked around the room, "Just need somewhere to stay for a few days."

_Tony Wonder was the straight magician who had come out as gay. But him coming out as gay was a cover so he could build a following in the gay community. _

Sally Sitwell and Tony sit on Sally's bed, as Sally shaves Tony's leg. "If Gob finds out you're straight, he'll use it to ruin you, and I'll lose the hundred grand I stole from Lucille Austero to re-brand you as the gay magician."

"I know that. Why are you telling me all this?"

"'Cause if she finds out, we both go down."

_But it wasn't GOB that was most interested in whether Tony Wonder was gay or not. This act came unstuck as a staffer of Sally's had leaked the entire campaign's emails a day after the election, in disgust over not being paid. _

The figure in the shadows moved the mouse, speaking on the phone. "I know, Goran. When everyone finds out, they both go down."

_Whatever is said about the Sitwell's, they have always been known as cheap. And this cheapness cost Tony Wonder his act, even though he had actually done a gay act. _

POOF carried a headline: Outed in Poof!

_With GOB. In a Tony Wonder mask. _

Tony enters the model home's master bedroom where GOB awaits, in masks of each other, the hidden night vision cameras rolling.

_But to Tony Wonder, revealing that was worse than gay people knowing he had been faking about being gay._

Michael walked in from the bedroom. "Hey, GOB."

"Michael, the man I was looking for!" He hugged him vigorously. "How are you my brother?"

"I'm good, just running the company now."

Maeby left the pair yakking and returned to the bedroom.

"So, you and your niece, sharing an apartment, huh? Don't let that one get out!"

Michael laughed awkwardly. "Ah, no. So how did you find me?"

_GOB had called his sister. The same sister that wasn't enamoured with Michael at that very moment._

GOB had held the phone away from his ear, so as not to be deafened by the shouting.

"What did you do to her to get Lindsay all hot and bothered?" he playfully punched Michael in the arm.

"Ahh, you'd have to ask her that."

"So yeah, you and I could be bunk buddies." He winked, "Maeby in the spare room."

"We just got Tobias staying in with us, you can share with him?"

"And you and Maeby? Boy Michael, don't let that one get out!"

_GOB had also been too focused on himself to notice the rumours about Michael and Maeby all over the national news. Well, he is a Bluth._

"Yeah, I'll…see to that. Just give me a second."

Michael found his girlfriend laying still on their bed, appearing very still, which was never a good sign.

He sat on his side of the bed, laying his hand over hers.

"I know this is hard but, he is family."

"You're going all Michael on me."

"The same Michael who loves you, and who apparently you love too?" he took her hand to his lips. "I'll make it up to you?"

_Last time Michael made it up to Maeby, they flew to New York on a private jet and stayed in a 5 star hotel. Maeby knew not to look a gift Bluth in the mouth._

She turned her head and grumbled. "Fine, my uncle can stay with us."

_So amidst Maeby's boxes, came GOB's illusions, and Tobas'…suitcase. _

In the kitchen, Maeby took a tablet from her plastic case, slipping it into her mouth and swallowing with a mouthful of water.

"Maeby, can you help daddy put on his workout DVD?"

Maeby rolled her eyes, leaving the stuff on the bench.

GOB walked in with a huge, weighty box. "Michael, this needs to be down on a flat surface." He rested it on the bench, causing a loud crack. He lifted it again, "This illusion played really well in front of the court house, I just need to get a good assistant again."

Tobias looked away from the TV as GOB entered the room. "Well I'm unemployed, perhaps we could be partners again!"

GOB laughed awkwardly. "I don't know about that, I have a pretty long waiting list to be my assistant."

"I thought you just said you needed one…"

GOB placed the huge steel box in the middle of the room, "Pre-tty long."

"I thought you said you had a job?" Maeby asked Tobias.

"I do…I just have to get it, back." Tobias stood up, marching out of the room. "Let's go get that job!"

Maeby returned to the kitchen, finding the remnants of her case.

Michael stuck his head out of the bedroom. "Maeby, if we leave now, we might be able to make it to the nicer grocery store, the one that just opened up?"

"Yeah, sure." She tipped out her handbag, finding a tin of mints, emptying them into the garbage.

"Just three more boxes, Michael!" GOB shouted from the hallway.

"Why don't you put them in you room?" Maeby shouted back, as she filled the tin with the tablets.

"We can get pasta or something for tonight, do you think?" Michael asked.

"Sounds good." She dropped the tin in her handbag, and slung it over her shoulder.

_The weekend went eventfully, and sleep was in shorter supply. It started to wear down the couple, as it would anyone. _

Maeby climbed out of the red Corvette with its roof on, and leaned in to kiss Michael.

_Michael's car was not perhaps the best to be sneaking around in. Years ago, he had bought it to impress…himself. _

Michael had noticed a pair of sunglasses hanging off a coathanger, which also held a red jacket.

"I like these sunglasses. They come with any car?"

The awkward middle aged salesman had gestured to the enormous red Corvette. "Just this one. They throw these extras at you because it's so impractical. No back seat. It attracts so many tickets... the insurance alone costs as much as the last three cars we saw."

"The windbreaker? Windbreaker comes with it too?"

The guy had shrugged. "I guess. I don't know. I've never sold one of these before, so-"

Michael had felt himself warming to the car. "I'll take it."

_He had also set aside five thousand dollars to bid on Sally for a date, which Tobias then used to bid on Lindsay._

Lindsay was strewn on the stage, intoxicated from tranquilisers and draped in a brown fur coat. And not getting much interest from the room.

At the lavish white bar table, Tobias had begged, "Please, Michael, give me some of your money."

"I've got $5,000, and I need that for Sally. But if you want to make a low bid..." Michael had offered.

Tobias thrust up his hand at the auctioneer. "$5,000!"

Lindsay had flopped over to her opposite side.

"For that? Sold!" The auctioneer had banged his gavel.

_And had to trade his Corvette to Stan Sitwell to get money to bid on Stan's daughter._

Sitwell had looked over the bar table in the auction room. "Well, you sure do drive a nice car, and I need one. Mine got torched today. Drop it off when you drop my daughter off tonight."

_But with the implosion of the Sitwell campaign came pain for the Sitwell business, which needed to raise fast cash. Including selling that Corvette. _

"And what do we have for an opening bid on the Corvette." The auctioneer had swung his gavel in the air,

"Ten dollars." Lindsay had stuck up her hand, her eyes daring the almost empty room, excluding one Asian man, to outbid her.

The small Asian man had slowly lifted his arm but was glared down.

"Sold for ten dollars."

"Why would you want a Corvette?" George Senior had leaned in.

"I don't want it, I just don't want them to get anything for it." Lindsay amused herself.

_Which meant George Senior got it. But Lucille wouldn't have a bar of it._

"I won't have a bar of this car. There's no bar over the head. You know what happened to Buster, he won't be in any vehicle without a bar."

_That may have been of GOB's doing._

A young Buster had squawked from under the tipped over mini kids convertible car.

"See Mom, I told you, you should have given it to me for Christmas!" GOB had shouted from nearby sidewalk.

"And the trunk is not big enough to re-stock my bar." Lucille had pointed to the back of the Corvette.

_So from the luxury car that almost got Michael laid, to the hand-me-down nobody wanted, it wound up back in the hands of Michael._

George Senior was glared at from across the conference room table by Michael and Maeby.

"Look, look, I'll make it up to you, how would you like, a new luxury car?"

_New as in, he'd never had it before. But he had. So it was an old-old-old car. But a car that only had barely any mileage – as Stan Sitwell was unable to drive it without losing his hair. So he didn't. And the car came into the hands of Michael with only double the mileage he parted with it on._

"Oh don't forget the steak for tonight." Michael mentioned to Maeby. "Or those black tomatoes GOB insists on having."

"I know, I know."

"And remind me to buy that silk sheet, GOB says he doesn't have time at the moment."

"Sure." She started to walk away from the car.

"I'll see you in there…and don't forget…"

"I won't!" She shouted back.

Maeby pulled up the blinds behind her desk, then went to set it up. A number of people walked by the sidewalk to the building, a cyclist, and a car, until she returned with a mug of coffee. The squeal of the car breaks then sounded, and a smash. Her phone rang. "We've crashed, haven't we?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we have."

"Well…I guess we're still moving forward?"

"Yeah I think it can. But the whole front part is…in pieces."

_And perhaps not the best old-old-old car for Michael Bluth to be driving around in at that point._

John Beard flashed his trademark grin on the screen. "Little Red Corvette, going much too fast. The princes of pandemonium, the Bluth family, crash out. More after this."

_And while the Bluths crashed out, the crack was trying to resurface to find out who crashed his wheels._

"George Senior, the famous George."

"Do I know you?" George continued to bash silver boxes with a hammer.

"Goran Crack. Someone ran into my car, prevented me from getting to getting to your son's first press conference since New York. You might have an interest in preventing me from getting there?"

"So I ran into your car? What are you Go-ran on about?"

"Your family has done a lot to try and stop me, why wouldn't you?"

"Sure, I'll file your complaint in my circular file." George Senior hung up.

_And from one circular file to another, the WeeBBC negotiations continued with the Bluth Company._

Maeby sat across from Rita in a modern WeeBBC conference room.

"They want to shoot for four weeks." Rita explained.

"How about one?" Maeby responded.

"Three!"

"Two?"

"Two it is!" Rita shuffled her papers. "And we will need access to the entire site, for the big lorries that are coming."

"Can you keep to the corner of the site, where the excavations are?"

"Well, the lorry drivers say they can't drive on mud, and they need to be able to set up their cookers so they can cook their gamehens."

"How about the half the site?"

"Half it is!" Rita flicked her pen around. "What about the holes afterwards?"

"It could work out for us, if you dig holes….Oh wait, yeah, just leave them. Don't worry about it."

"Great, this is going so well!"

"It certainly is."

"I had something for you, from Wee Britain, to the Bluth company." She handed her a Styrofoam container. "Its Ear and Kidney Pie, a Wee Brittan speciality, from the Fat Computroller to you!"

"Oh, scrumptious!" Maeby took the foam box, placing it into her case.

_And from a fairly uneventful day, to an uneventful night, the next morning, however, would take an interesting turn._

Maeby slid in her earrings, brushing her hair one final time. In her blue dress, she felt her boyfriend joining her, him sliding his arms around her, dressed only in a towel.

"You and that blue dress, huh?"

"I wouldn't go there if I were you." She threatened, with a hint of play in her voice.

"You have no idea how sexy you are." He kissed her neck, his opposite hand slipping into the front of her dress. "So beautiful, so sexy…"

_Michael may have been more affectionate than usual prior to a work day as having two family members about to mind had wreaked havoc on their ability to be affectionate. And there was only so much a much doting man could take._

"We have to go in like, twenty." She murmured.

"You're tempting me more."

"Am I?"

Maeby knew throwing a question out there would elicit only one response.

Michael spun around, pushing her against the bedroom's interior wall. Devouring her mouth, one hand found her upper thigh, the other migrating further down the front of her dress, hers feeling out the contours.

The bedroom door suddenly swung open, GOB bursting in dressed only a towel. "Michael, I gotta say, you going into a shared room with Maeby just in a towel, don't let…"

_If this were network TV, Michael would be censored by a coloured spot by now. But because there hasn't been coloured spots anywhere this entire time, there wasn't. Making it even more awkward. And Michael wasn't about to move from his position, for that reason_.

"Heyyyy." GOB put on a fake, awkward grin.

"I thought Lindsay had told you."

"No. No."

"GOB, meet my girlfriend, Maeby."

"I wouldn't be letting this one out, Michael!" GOB laughed manically, making a quick exit.

The couples' eyes darted away.

"I think it's best if we still stay quiet, when, you know…" Michael murmured.

"Yeah. Less awkward that way. Did you want to go talk to your brother?"

"Not really."

_So he didn't._

Maeby was seated opposite the bed, on the dining chair that had been dragged into the spare room. "So that's when we realised we were attracted to each other, and yeah, have been together ever since."

GOB nodded awkwardly, curled over the bed. "Yeah, but he's your uncle, I mean, I got the George Michael thing, who hasn't made out with a cousin or so!"

_Or really hasn't._

"Well, it kinda just happened."

"I guess if makes you happy…I mean, I'll never experiment with something like being gay but,"

_Or has._

"It's just you…and him…ugh."

Maeby placed a hand on his shoulder. "Well, try not to think of the mental images, sport. We're still the same people, just…together now."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Atta boy." She patted him.

_And a hungry Tobias went looking for wee snack, finding none other than the British ear and kidney pie Maeby had dumped, unable to contemplate binning it just at that moment._

"Mm, what is this delightful dish, why, it certainly tastes like a bit of everything!" Tobias ate from the dish with a spoon.

_But the time had gotten away from him, and he was due to meet his boss…oh, ten minutes ago?_

"Time to get going!" He breathed on his hand and smelled the air. "Oh bottlebrush, can't have that wrapping around their senses. No time to brush my teeth." He reached into Maeby's handbag, and pulled out a tin labelled 'Mints'. "A mint will freshen me up!" He popped one in his mouth. "Say, this is an odd flavour. Must be new." He popped a second, and the box in his pocket.

_And when GOB had been consoled, and Michael and Maeby continued their usually meticulous routine, by 10pm, they were on their way to work. A day where all they needed was smiles. A day of intense joy,_

Michael looked at a piece of paper, "Those are our borrowing rates now?"

_And happiness,_

"Why do they need $24,000 for Yorkshire pudding?!" Maeby exclaimed on the phone. "And why are we paying?"

_And pure elation. _

"Come on, you do not need the Balboa Bay Rewards upgrade, Mom!"

_While their home was a hive of activity._

GOB continued to fiddle with the steel cage, hearing Tobias close the front door of the apartment and walked around the corner.

"I'm home!"

GOB looked up, seeing Tobias in the Mrs Fetherbottom Wig. "Nice…wig?"

"I just felt like I needed a bit of prettying up, like a lady."

GOB continued to fiddle with the cage. "I'm sure."

"And it will really broaden my repertoire, or as I call it, re-par-dey."

"I can see why that's gonna work. Just like my new illusion. This will wow crowds Balboa Bay over."

_It may have, had its mechanics not been leaked by a reporter in the latest unauthorised biography, _Tony Wonder Revealed_. In stores now._

"But I need another three of these silk sheets. Where is Michael?"

"Yes, I asked him to dry clean my Sherry Bobbins outfit for a production tonight."

_Production may have been a strong word. Tobias had hoped to make new inroads with approaching casting directors in the hottest bar in the bay area dressed as…Sherry Bobbins. A new angle on his rep-par-dey. _

"And it isn't like I can just go out." Moaned Tobias, "Not having any money, Michael needs to buy things for me. I feel as if I am a woman's character trapped inside a male body, it's like there's a man inside me, but he's a woman. And a female character being born from her daddy's loins cannot support itself."

"As for me." GOB agreed. "I'm starting from scratch here, learning the new non-Christian magic, acquiring new stuff again, finding a non-drugged out stripper, how will my act ever grow, up?"

Tobias shook his head, and wandered over to the kitchen.

_But for all the looking after that was going on, Tobias noted a note attached to the refrigerator, and read it, "Dear Maeby, I enjoyed seeing you at breakfast this morning, maybe I'll see you there tomorrow. Xox."_

Tobias stumbled back to GOB, holding the note. "You know, I once counselled a couple. They were obsessed with Yorkshire puddings, they'd have 20 or 30 a day, they came to the sessions on scooters. Anyway, they said their son had walked in on them making the sweet act of making love with each other, and how that had made them feel, and I just wonder, in terms of us both here, we've crashed, haven't we?"

_GOB was now having the images of his brother's limbs all over his niece return to his memory, followed by images of his parents doing the same thing._

"Yeah. Yeah, we have." GOB stammered, then hyperventilated, and dashed out.

_So Tobias tried to clean up the lounge, shifting some of GOB's larger and heavier things back into their shared room. Which was a struggle with one set of Tobias arms._

Tobias pushed hard at the base of the cage. "Well…I guess we're still moving forward." He heaved.

_Having had a long day, Michael decided to give himself the evening off, with his CFO coming home a bit later._

The house was quiet as a mouse, one could hear a pin drop, as Maeby closed the front door. She found a bunch of tigerlillies on the bench and smiled. When she approached them, she noticed the dining table laid out.

Michael walked around the corner in a crisp blue shirt and chinos. "You're home." He smiled.

"It's so quiet."

"For tonight? Yes. They'll be away until morning."

_GOB was insisting on staying somewhere which wasn't offending his sense of proprietary, and Tobias had made himself scarce. Or as scarce as someone dressed as Mrs Fetherbottom could._

"Sit down." Michael gestured.

Seated, Michael served her a plate with steak and salad. "You cook?"

"Among many talents." He winked at her.

"You're cute when you think you're being clever."

"No, I know I'm being clever."

Maeby ate some of the salad. "This is good!"

"Ah-ha!" He pointed at her.

"You're still not clever."

_And they finished their meal, retiring to the bedroom. _

Standing in the bedroom doorway, Michael looked down at her. "What if I do the dishes?"

"Might be worth your while."

He returned to the bedroom, finding Maeby on the bed in a sweet red lace babydoll.

She climbed off the bed, towards him, kissing him as her fingers found his buttons.

"You know what's more beautiful than you in that…is you out of it." Michael breathed into her neck, finding its zip.

"No, no, no." She placed a finger on his lips, continued to unbutton, finding his button and fly, and eventually nothing but skin. She stood tall, kissing him tenderly, then more roughly, pushing him back onto the pillow in the centre of the bed. She climbed on top of him, taking him into her mouth.

He heaved in release, the pleasure relaxing him completely. "I did miss this."

Maeby mumbled, then said, "it wasn't that long ago."

"No…"

_Michael did not want to talk about the last time, he'd already gotten into trouble about it this week, and was enjoying himself far too much to blow it._

Michael shut his eyes and withdrew to the pleasure flowing through his body, moving ever closer. "Wow..uhh….Oh, did I tell you I love you today…" His breathing quickened, "Oh, you're amazing. Yes. ahh." He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and relaxed back into the pillows. "Come here."

She pushed herself up, crawling up to straddle him.

After his hands made light work of the babydoll, he pulled her in, French kissing her, and rolled her over onto her back.

As they bonded, she moaned, and he lightly brushed her chin and jaw with his lips.

"I wish this could last forever."

"Me too." She whispered back.

_And as two Bluths made affirmations, another defended defamations._

Phone pressed to her ear, Lindsay patted her tightly curled blonde hair in the back of the Limo. "What can I do for you today, Goran?"

"One of your family wrecked my car."

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out."

"So you're saying you don't know who did, but you're accusing me of denting your car because you have a hunch someone in my family dented your car?"

"Yes. You know how much my instinct has been right, lately."

"I know how much you keep calling me. Did you want some other phone numbers? I can give you the number for a good Yorkshire Pudding chef if you're bored."

"Well if you didn't, and if your father didn't, then who did?"

_Rebel had returned home to find her fiancée moaping on the couch. _

"Hey sweetie, I tried to call you, keeps going to voicemail."

"Yeah, my phone went for a swim in a castle, then some gravel. Where's the car?"

"Oh, um." Rebel blushed.

_Rebel had a habit of car accidents. Not because she was a bad driver, just because she was a distracted driver. She'd even done a PTA about it._

Rebel had looked straight at the camera with the green screen behind her. "And that's why, say no to fluffy snowmen on car mirrors."

_But that hadn't stopped her._

"I just need them in there, I can't concentrate without my fluffy snowmen." She'd signed, forlorn.

"Aww." George Michael had hugged her. "What did the police say?"

"Oh yeah."

_Rebel had forgotten to call the police, or leave a note. Leaving the other driver with an undriveable car, and nobody to blame for it._

"Huh?" Goran grizzled at Lindsay over the phone.

_So he blamed the Bluths, which wasn't a bad effort, as was a semi-Bluth's fault._

Lindsay replied flatly. "I have no idea. Did you hear about my six point plan to improve literacy?"

_And that's how Lindsay got Goran to leave her alone, even without the bay's only Yorkshire Pudding Chef._

"So tough to get referrals."

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Rebel appears in another court-ordered PSA._

"Hit and run and not reporting it to the police? Don't do it."

_And Maeby notices something has disappeared._

Maeby tips out her handbag on the bench, wading through the contents. "Has anyone seen my mints?"


	6. Under Pressure

_Four weeks after she had moved into her boyfriend's Michael's house, and three weeks and thirty days her father and uncle had moved in with them, Maeby was starting to feel it. _

Maeby heard the familiar strains the bass and piano of the Bowie and Queen song _Under Pressure_ in her head, attempting to clean up the mess of glitter and lighter fluid sprayed over the living room floor.

"Maeby, where are my earrings?" Tobias shouted from the spare bedroom.

"Out here, where you left them!" She shouted back, the pearl clip-ons in hand.

As Maeby returned to the kitchen, she dropped them into the hands of Tobias in his full Sherry Bobbins outfit, then reaching into her handbag and pulling out her mini tin of mints, popping one and downing it with a glass of water from the sink.

GOB leaned over the bar counter. "Maeby, there'll be a delivery of pigeons tonight but I can't stick around because I have a pretty exclusive club I'm attending tonight."

_If he means he'll be standing out in the queue and begging the doorman to let him into a room full of strippers and women who don't want a 'good time', like every other schmuck, then yes._

"We can't store pigeons here, there's no room, it's probably a violation of our lease and I don't know if we'll be working late tonight."

"It's only eight." GOB patted her on the shoulder. "I knew I could count on you." He disappeared out the front door.

Maeby grumbled and hoiked her bag over her shoulder, rushing out the door.

_And there was no doubts that not having a car was putting a little pressure on Maeby._

Maeby stormed from the Bluth Company elevator, her suit splashed in mud, collecting bemused looks from staff, straight to Michael's office, closing the door.

"When is the corvette going to be ready?" She grizzled.

"Hi to you too, and they think not for another two weeks because they're still missing parts."

"Why are you even with that insurance?"

"I dunno, because Dad was with them I guess."

George Senior had stood opposite the 80s style counter of the consultant. "And I need my insurer to cover accidental damage from any life lessons I'd teach my children that may include cars, boats, or our home."

"Well doesn't that sound necessary." The beady man with the glasses had replied. "Of course we do."

_So you can imagine what kind of company they are._

"My back is so sore," she rubbed her lower spine, "I'll have to try another bike."

"Why don't you just take a cab?"

"We're holding on by a thread here with the British delays, we can't afford cabs." Maeby grumbled. "And thanks for asking how I was."

"If I do that, I'm gonna have to insist you take a cab. You can't destroy yourself over someone elses' budget disaster."

_A combination of Michael and external factors. Mostly external factors._

"Okay, fine." She growled. "When are we scheduled for a meeting with the investors?"

"Right about…five minutes ago."

"Get them on then…get them on!" Maeby rushed from the room, peering at her muddied clothing.

_Five minutes of sponging later, and a damp Maeby and a wet Michael teleconferenced with their financial taskmasters._

"Fred, John, Toby, fantastic to see you all Sirs." Maeby grinned into the webcam.

"Great to see you too, missie!" Toby exclaimed.

"How is our favourite Californian investment?" Fred asked.

"We've got another small delay on construction, but if we were to try to build through it, it could be a worse PR move than to just cut our losses." Michael analysed.

"Sounds like what my daddy used to say about the Japanese." Toby quipped.

"Same thing, but the English." Michael nodded.

"Now what's all-er this about you two getting amorous? How is this a good look for the company?" John demand.

Michael launched the offensive. "Sirs, we are working very hard to change the message to that being around the Bluth product, particularly Bluthton. We think this thing is being blown out of proportions because of my sister and her public office. We think with this good news for Bluthton, that it wasn't in fact a burial ground and that Lindsay will be the public face of the dedication of marking the actual sacred land, and the next bru-ha-ha the media or public generate for her, that they will in fact focus on her and not rehash their current accusations."

"But are you and Maeby amorous or not?" John insisted.

_Michael could blindsight the media, doing what his brother had done for many years as part of his tric-er-illusions- the art of misdirection. But businessmen aren't quite so misdirectable. So Michael did the next best thing,_

"No, we are not."

_He lied, complicated by the fact that the relationship was going only one way at a rapid rate._

Later, Maeby paced Michael's office, rubbing her back. "So what happens when they find out?"

"Well, they said 'amorous'."

"They're gentlemen, and you know what they mean. As do they."

"Well, we'll just have to tell them beforehand." Michael rocked in his chair.

"Michael, I can bulls[Beep] people with the best of them, heck, _Love Indubitbly 2_ was made on a dare,"

_And she conned two French backers out of 10 million dollars to make that turkey._

"But if they call the 20 million plus in, the company folds."

"You're not going all Michael on me, are you?" Michael stirred.

"If by being financially responsible and saving my own ass, then yes, I am."

"I think this thing will die down a bit. Just a speedbump, we'll get through this, then, look again at it. We've been through many bumps together, why would this be the last one?"

_It was another bumpy ride for Maeby to the site AKA shoot, where the classy cast of Bygone Burials had set up their lorries and their cookers, and were on their way to making their Yorkshire Puddings._

"This is all so…necessary." Maeby attempted to say without sarcasm, over her phone.

"I knew you'd understand." Rita replied on the other end. "They'll start excavating soon. Also, the team from the university sent a representative which they said was their most exceptional student so he could help them. He'll be there somewhere."

"Are non-core staff part of the contract? Did you check it?"

"Computer said no. She did say how exceptional he is."

Maeby looked up to see Buster sitting neatly folded on a rock. "He's certainly their most exceptional, all right."

"Brilliant! This is going so well!"

Maeby then saw an older man from Bygone Burials stumble over a manicured front lawn, tearing out a shrub in the process. "It is."

"Well, you've done this before, why don't you coordinate them? I'll just tell them Mrs F sent you."

[Mrs F]

"What?"

_But Rita had already hung up. Possibly accidentally. _

"Buster, come here!"

Buster wandered over. "Oh hey, Mom said…"

"Yeah, yeah, me and Michael, get over it." She clapped her hands over her head. "People, Gentlemen, ladies, circle around."

_While Maeby was allaying the concerns of her family members, the same couldn't be said for Michael._

GOB walked into Michael's office. "Good news."

"You have your own place."

"No, no, the illusions, Michael."

"There are no pigeons coming."

"Oh no, that's tomorrow, and I got a discount on twenty now."

Michael winced.

"I've been granted my request to use city hall for my re-launch performance!"

"So you can dazzle the Mayor?"

"And, I found some new assistants for my act!" He held out a photo.

"Wow, they both look…is that their professional photo, or…"

"Oh wait." GOB took back the photo. "Here."

"Well that's certainly more clothes."

"They know a lot about the entertainment business, they even have their own agents."

"I think professionally they call it a pimp." Michael folded his arms. "How is our congresswoman sister going to react to you doing your magic act again, in city hall, with two strippers?"

"I'm sure no worse than when she found out you were f[beep]ing her daughter."

Michael dashed over to the door, closing it. "She's got a lot of problems with a lot of things."

GOB gagged and shuddered, then straightened and continued. "Besides, I'm a celebrity in my own right."

_A D-List celebrity. Maybe._

"Everyone knows my act."

_Everyone knows him for leaving Egg on the altar. I mean, Anne. And what was her surname again?_

"Sure. Just one thing, I'm not sure how many people know about the me and Maeby thing here…"

"And your porkies to the media! Way to go Michael!" GOB held up his hand.

"Yep. Might be good not to bring it up so loudly? Just text me if you need anything."

"I Just got so bored back at your apartment with Tobias. He's been all weird lately."

_And dressing as a woman. But not for the reason of breaking back into the house, like he did for Lindsay and Maeby._

In the model home, Maeby had sat on the island bench, opposite Mrs Featherbottom.

"Mr. Fingerbottom?"

"Missus."

Maeby had struggled to not roll her eyes. "Right, missus. I should really get going."

"No, no, no, no, no, no. No, no, sit back. What's the rush? Please, I want to hear about you. Tell me about your family. I'm sure wherever your father is right now, she loves you very, very much."

Michael nodded. "I might talk to him. In the meantime, why don't you go catch up with Mom?"

"Why would I? She didn't call me once while I was away. Ungrateful b[beep]."

"I can't see why not. But neither did I?"

"You invited me to visit you, Mikey!" GOB smiled.

"What…when?"

"When you were laying on the sofa of the model home."

"Hey, Michael! You came to see me?" GOB had yipped like an eager dog, leaning over him.

"Oh hey, of course! That's what I was doing here…" He'd rubbed his head. "Wow, my head is killing me."

"You want me to care for you, Mikey?"

"Sure, GOB, just ah, get me home, okay?"

"Anything for you!" GOB helped him up.

"So you didn't get my address from Lindsay."

"Well ah…"

"Yeah, Porkies."

"Well I'm not the one with Maeby…."

Michael interrupted, "It's not like that, okay, and you know it. I'd appreciate it if you respected us."

"Well sure, Mr President. Mr CEO. Mr f[beep]..."

"I'll have whatever you wanted, ready…no wait, you didn't want anything."

"About that…"

"Go on?" Michael rolled his eyes.

_And as Michael straightened one side of the family, Maeby straightened another._

"But Mom said there would be Danishes." Buster moaned, standing near the catering lorry.

"This is what there is." Maeby gestured to the massive pile of white crusty lumps. "This is what British people eat."

_Some of them, some of the time._

A long haired straggly greying man approached them "It's a great British tradition!" he insisted in his northern English accent, "Can't get back to work without our cup of tea and Yorkshire pudding. It's in the WeeBBC agreement."

_It's not. Trust us._

"But I want American food." Buster yowled, and started shaking his arm and hook in the air.

Maeby groaned. "Buster, I know it's unusual food, but sometimes, we all have to take our lumps." She then placed her hand on her mouth. "Excuse me!" and dashed off to the port-a-loo.

"That lass should get some Yorkshire Pudding, fix that tum right up!" exclaimed the man. "As should you!"

"I…might need to join her." Buster eyed the lumps and headed off towards Maeby.

_But there was to be no easy answers for Maeby._

"Is it ticking along?" Michael asked over the phone.

"I guess you could say that." Maeby watched the haggard group of old British men mull over the tools being used in the excavation. "If by ticking you mean grinding and by grinding you mean, us into the red."

"It sounds very promising. Fred from Nevada requested a timeline by Friday of construction though."

"Can it be pushed back?"

"When investors start asking for absolute timelines..It's best to give them something."

The musical interlude returned to drilling Maeby's head. She inhaled, "Okay, " heard a loud crash and saw the group of old British men picking over their equipment. "I'll do it between shifting space and time and feeding my uncle non-Empire food."

"Sounds great." Michael ignored her sarcasm.

From the distance, a voice boomed out. "We can start digging!"

"Jolly ho!" Maeby removed the phone from her ear, and hung up.

_And very little was done that day, as was the case every day. Between their quarter-hourly mandatory-but-not-in-their-contract tea breaks,_

"Stop boys, we need more Yorkshire puddings!"

_To the insistence on re-shots,_

The mole-like man stared into the camera stunned like a car was careering suddenly towards him. "Welcome to Bygone Burials!"

"Cut, cut." The stuck up brit shouted from the director's chair. "Stare harder into the camera! Really pull the audience in!"

_Time moved slowly that day, tragically for Maeby who wished she'd only have more of it._

Maeby mounted the bike and started riding along the dirty road, skidding to a stop. "Aughh, my back!"

_And back to the apartment after a long day._

Maeby lumbered her exhausted and muddy body through the door, being greeted by the spritely GOB.

"Hey, you look terrible."

Maeby just moaned in response.

"Look, I recharged this morning." He flicked his wrists, spraying fuel.

"My eye!" Maeby moaned, dashing off towards the bathroom.

"Must get that…" GOB flicked it again, fuel spraying every which way.

Opening the ensuite door, she stumbled into her bedroom and onto the bed.

GOB joined her, sitting on the bed. "Your dad…is he your mom now?"

Maeby groaned. "I don't know, ask him."

"Yeah but…Anyway, so what happened with your parents? Things get a bit too intense?"

"I don't know." She shook her head.

"I've heard stats it's often the kids. And I was going to say, you should stop blaming yourself. Blame yourself once and move on."

"Thanks, GOB." She muttered, as he left.

_Maeby re-engaged the warp zone she sent her brain to when her parents were amid their typical dramas, but this time, it was unfortunately clouded by a back up chorus._

Closing her eyes, Maeby heard a familiar chorus about being under pressure, over, and over again.

Michael was being greeted by GOB at the front door, entering to find a heap of dirty dishes in the sink, glitter in the carpet, and feathers strewn over the table. "Hi GOB, how's keeping the house clean without Mrs Featherbottom going?"

"Oh, I'm too busy for that." GOB waved his hands. "I need to perfect the routine for the Town Hall act on Friday."

"And you can't do that without glitterbombing the apartment?"

A hunched Maeby hobbled from the bedroom towards the sink.

"I'll need room to let the magic set in, Michael. To reach my muse."

"Meaning?"

GOB leaned in. "He's crimping my style, I need my space. Come on!"

Michael glanced at the bench, covered in feathers, and then at GOB, who was in a suit covered in a combination of black sequins and feathers. "I just asked my girlfriend to move in with me, but sure."

"Your niece doesn't count."

"GOB…"

"Heh-heh, relax, Michael, I'm kidding. I respect your…" he glanced at Maeby and then tried to block the images, "thing." He gagged slightly.

"I'll try and get him out of the house tomorrow. Okay?"

"Thank you, Mikey."

Maeby grumbled, and Michael slid his hands down his arm as she leaned into the sink.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Maeby snapped.

_Because when women say they're fine, they mean they're fine._

Micheal backed off slightly. "Do you happen to know where Mrs Featherbottom is?"

"They certainly weren't here earlier, all I found when I got home was glitter everywhere and flaming queen."

"None of its Transparent, could be anywhere, I guess."

"I don't know what's up with him. He seems obsessed with those mints."

"Yes, I wonder how much Maura this will go on." Michael remarked, "But…"

"What?"

"Sweetie…I was thinking maybe it would help him if he got out of the house a little."

She spun around, the most spritely all day. "I'm sure he'll have a loose seal of a time at the office."

"But, but, he keeps seemingly falling into a career stage and screen? Maybe…this is the big leap he needs?"

_So Maeby set about giving her father a shot at the craft. Or at least another one. As much chance as one could get from a series of holes on a building estate and the bachelor of the year five years running of WeeBrittan,_

The mid fifties man with the white boofy hair of Emmett Brown, and a filthy kilt, shouted from the muddy trestle table covered in lumpy looking British food, "You'll be right, lassie! More haggis!" He instructed the bevy of food lorries.

_Rick Hashton._

As Maeby hauled herself out of a small ditch she had just tripped into.

In the full Featherbottom, Tobias remarked in awe, "They're all so cultured here, it's like I've fallen into a cul-de-sac of Europe."

"Yeah, it's not a hole at all." Maeby grizzled.

"You know, I don't know that much English culture. I do need to expand my rep-par-diey." Tobias gingerly approached the table of pink and purple lumpy delights.

Buster whined from the deckchair nearby, "Maeby, I'm hungry."

"Expand your palette." Tobias insisted, "Why, I've never had this before, what is this delightful dish?" and sampled the pink wriggly goo.

"Tongue." The witless matron in the dirty apron shouted in her northern UK accent from a food lorry.

"Lots of tongue in cheek here, I see."

"No, just tongue."

Tobias gulped. "Tally ho." And popped in a small white disk from the mint tin.

Buster leaned into and all over Maeby as she stagged from the hole. "I don't like this 'culture', why can't I go home?"

Maeby groaned.

"No, wait, I do know some British culture. do-be-do do-do-do-wahp. Do-be-do do-do-do-wahp." Tobias sang.

Maeby sent him a deathstare. "Can you stop doing that?"

"Aw, come on, nothing like a little old Queen."

"Really, no!" She snapped, and dashed away to the port-a-loo.

_And Maeby had some time to herself, until she was again interrupted by Queen._

"Maeby…honey...they need a signature on another delivery."

"Of what?"

"Pudding mix."

_Because Yorkshire Pudding chefs make from the packet. They are the top British chefs._

Maeby grumbled and muttered.

"Are you coming out? You know what they say, Keep Calm and Canary on."

"Dad, I'm a wreck, I really don't think I can finish the shoot today with myself in tow, can you get Michael on the phone and just tell him today's write-off?"

"Why don't we take five, and cruise through the old model home?"

_So over the hill and far away, Tobias and daughter went for a wander through the still deserted wreck, an isolated testament to a past life lived together._

With her father by her side, Maeby gazed into the kitchen, her eyes honing in on a plaster plate cracked in pieces, her mind casting back to when she was a teenager.

"Do you remember this?" Maeby asked.

"No, what is it?"

"Of course you wouldn't." She mumbled.

_It was only parenting after all._

In the old days of the model home, the young Maeby had rested her head on her hand, flipping through a magazine, her schoolbag at her feet.

Michael had passed around the counter, and found the phone was being cradled in a foreign object. He moved the phone off it, and picked up the object, which was in one piece at the time. "What's this?"

Maeby had gazed up. "It's a mother's day plate they all forced us to make."

_Which was meant to have something that reminded the students of their mothers. Maeby couldn't decide between all the stuff her mother insisted their broke family acquire, so she put on there what she felt she wanted to remind her of her mother._

"It's kinda…plain."

_Nothing._

"Yeah, I didn't want anything on it."

"Are you going to wrap it for your mom?"

"I gave it to her last week. I think she's forgotten about it. I think dad put the phone on it when he was cleaning."

_As Mrs Featherbottom, of course. But nobody had admitted it at the time._

Michael had traced his fingers around the smooth jade surface, which had flecks of purple and sea blue.

"Motherhood, huh? Being given random trinkets you can't even bare to look at for one day."

"Well, I think it's lovely." He'd held it in the air, admiring it, then went over to the corner bookshelf, setting it on the middle shelf. "And you never know, one day you might have children making your own plates."

Maeby had laughed. "I'll never be a mother."

_For as the plate had been, to what it was now, time and pressure, splits a family in two._

She inspected a cracked remain. "I'm not surprised it's in pieces."

_Not when Buster had taken to it, having run out of dinner plates, scrounging for food on a set derelict of edible food._

With the canister of whipped cream in his hand, Buster had pulled a white dinner plate from the kitchen cupboard with his claw, which slid out and cracked. And then another. And another. And when the stack was empty, he turned to the corner shelf. "Maybe something with a bit more weight." He mumbled to himself, as he pulled it down.

_As it turned out, weight was not the problem._

The plate had gone sailing into the tiles.

_But with every façade, a C-grade effort in art, glazed in jade, or otherwise, the cracks will eventually appear. And with that impact, leave only the hard centre, or pieces._

Maeby continued to inspect the shards.

Tobias looked up the stairs, "Oh, there's something I need to jerk off out of the crawl space."

"Okay." Maybe mumbled, her mind still wrapped in days gone by in the house.

She sat on a box, as Tobias flung open boxes.

"Dad…do you ever feel, like, just not yourself?"

Tobias looked up from a dozen open boxes in the curly white wig, wide glasses, makeup, and dowdy dress.

"Um, never mind." Maeby covered her mouth, gagging. "I just feel nauseous all the time, I'm tired, I'm hungry, and keep needing the bathroom."

Tobias touched his chin with his index finger, "well, going back to my medical days," he threw open a box, finding a single ancient text book. "Nausea, nausea…food poisoning, viral infection, pregnancy…"

Maeby gasped, her eyes widening.

"…general anxiety disorder. Oh no, do you need therapy? Because Dr Dad the Thelelepathist is here to help!" He grabbed her shoulder.

"I need to go to the drugs store." She turned on her heels.

"Well daddy will be here for you when you get back, we can break through some walls together!"

A piece of plaster just fell from the wall, leaving a hole into the hallway.

_Without his CFO, Michael was left patching holes in the budget, of his own._

"I know, and we do appreciate your contribution. Thank you. Yes." On the phone, Michael spotted his mother entering his office, unannounced, and shutting the door behind her. "No, we do value it. Thanks. You too." He saw the wiry figure place herself in his eyeline. "Hi Ma. What can I do for you?"

"I'm clearing out the storage unit, here's your contribution." She dumped the large box in front of his desk."

"Great. Now why are you really here?"

"Michael, I couldn't get into the soirée. They said my membership didn't qualify."

"That's probably because you're on the basics membership, because the company needs the money right now." Michael flipped open a file, making notes onto a pad.

"Well I knew that's not what you meant when you promised me a membership, and went ahead and put in for the upgrade, they'll send the bill to you."

"The Bluth Company is barely liquid. That was an investor on the phone, asking about the 2K he has invested with us. Now, if I'd had Maeby around, she could have sorted it out within a minute, but that took me twenty minutes to calm him down. Still, if even he pulls out, I'll have Nevada asking questions."

"Why don't you rent out the huge apartment you have, get some boarders in? I've heard English backpackers or film crews pay well. You're used to living in a freakshow."

"Maeby just moved in with me, as did Tobias and GOB."

"Oh, so the messiah and the old queen are back. I see GOB didn't bother to come and see his mother."

"Why don't you go visit the apartment and catch up with him, I'm sure he'd love to see you."

"Why would I? He didn't call me once while he was away. Ungrateful b[beep]."

"I can't see why not. What exactly did GOB do to you?" Michael looked up.

Lucille narrowed her eyes. "That's about as much of your business as me hearing about when you and Maeby [beep] [beeeeeep] [beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep]."

Michael's face distorted. "We've never done that, but I'm glad yours and Dad's relationship is still so…active."

"Because you and Maeby are DINKs, I'm sure you'll find a way to get me into the next soirée."

"We're currently earning what the company can afford to pay us, but, who knows, maybe one day we might be a SITCOM. Again." Michael noticed the door opening again. "And here's one of the two."

_And speaking of subscriber to no income and oppressive mortgages, Lucille's least favourite in-law appeared, dressed to impress, someone other than herself._

Lucille conveyed a sweeping glance of disdain all over Tobias and/or Mrs Fetherbottom. "Hello."

"Lucille, how lovely to see you." Tobias went to embrace her, and she froze up as his arms went around.

"Likewise." Lucille spat disingenuously.

"Tobias, I thought you were with Maeby today at the set?" Michael queried.

"Yes, it was fantastic to be on a set again, broadening my rep-par-dey." Tobias rubbed his hands together.

"So why aren't you there now? Where's Maeby?"

"She had to go, she was certainly in a hurry to get away from our father-daughter bonding time."

Lucille punctured her son-in-law with her needling eyes. "I can't see why."

"Excuse me." Michael mumbled, gesturing to the immediate company, making a call on his phone while walking over to the window.

_Maeby heard the incoming call, but had her hands full at the time._

Standing in the bathroom, a half-full plastic cup on the sink behind her, she held three pregnancy tests per hand.

_As a familiar song returned to her consciousness, the young film executive of _Maybe, Baby_ could only beg the universe 'no, let me out' and hoping the phoney baloney diagnosis of her struck off father and somewhat shaky woman's institution, were wrong. _

"Maeby, I need to shave, the eleventh hour beckons." She heard GOB shout from the outside door.

_And so Maeby watched not one, but two lines appear, once, twice, thrice on one hand, and once, twice, thrice on the other, two good hands of compelling cards. The terror of knowing, finally knowing, made her sudden ailments minor in comparison._

"No…" she mouthed. The bashing on the door became louder and more laboured. She shuffled her proverbial cards to the one hand, emptied the plastic cup and vacated through the ensuite door. "You can get ready for your closeup".

And as she stumbled towards the bed, she heard GOB break into chorus. "Watching good friends shout, let me out, pressure on the people…something something beeps…"

Maeby moaned, her sudden headache, churning stomach, and heavy body causing her to throw herself face down into the bed and scream into the covers, the tests encircling her on the covers as they were flung from her grip.

_The young Maeby F__ü__nke lay there, down for the count, surrounded. It would be several hours until her boyfriend would return to the scene._

Michael shut the front door, seeing Maeby's handbag on the counter as well as a handful of jade shards. He picked a few up and inspected them. "Maeby?" He walked into the bedroom. "Are you okay?"

She lay straight on her side of the bed. "Kinda." She uttered.

He checked her temperature on her forehead, then sat on the edge. "Is it your back, or you feeling sick again, or…"

"All of the above, I think there's something up with my stomach." She rubbed it gently.

_Just a small thing._

"Well you take as much time off as you need. How about I whip you up some chicken noodle soup?"

"Sure, sounds good." Her mouth curved slightly.

"Now tell me, I remember where these are from, I think, did you make it?" He tried to piece together the shards.

Maeby threw her arms around him and grinned. "I love you."

_And for a moment, Maeby forgot all her lumps. Being in love can do that._

Michael laid the pieces down, his hand massaging her thigh. "It's almost worth risking getting sick." He whispered, to which he then threw caution to the wind and lay deep kisses into her mouth, quickly finding the buttons on her shirt and the band in her skirt. Her hands sought his buttons, his belt, and his fly, and soon they were both in pure undress. Her sore legs were wrapping around his torso, softly moaning into his mouth as she felt their bodies meet.

_And Michael found himself feeling closer and more attracted to her than ever, but had no idea why._

"Maeby…Mmm…" He cooed, her soft body pressed against his, legs pulling him in, enwrapping him in bliss. "We don't do this enough…"

_Maeby's aching back and sore joints that Michael had given her were counterbalanced by the sensations Michael was giving her._

"Mmm, owwww…sore…mmhh…" Maeby alternated between pain and pleasure.

Michael froze, stroking her cheek. "I can stop if this is hurting."

"I'm close…" she panted, which is all he needed to keep going until they reached the end, both relaxing on their backs.

"You know…" Michael panted, "I haven't had this much libido since I was in my 20s." he gazed at his naked partner.

"We did it last week?"

"I've been up to my neck in investors since last week."

_And not on a GOB and Tony Wonder way._

He stroked a hand over her contours, then lead her chin to his. "Aren't you sore though?"

Maeby half groaned, half murmured.

He glanced at his clock radio, his eyes falling across the photobooth strip of them horsing around that sat in front of it. "I'll make you some green tea."

_Which is what Michael would be doing a lot of over the next few days, when he wasn't at work trying to hold the fort,_

"Well, I'm sorry, we just won't be making triple digit growth this quarter. I know, she's currently away from her desk. No, we aren't in a hole, we're just making a lot of them so we and our crews can get into them."

_Or at the holes trying to keep the forts ALA their houses from not holding,_

Michael held his arms folded, gesturing, "Can we..speed things along?"

"We can't cut the forth break, it's the most important one of the day!" Insisted the unfortunate and muddy northern Englishman, mug in one hand, Yorkshire Pudding in the other.

_And Michael hit the same bumps as Maeby, only now he was doing the work of two people. Maeby, however, was now eating for two people._

Maeby threw herself out of bed and dashed into the ensuite.

_Or not. So Michael returned to find his unwell other._

"How are you?"

"I got an hours sleep."

"Between what?"

_Between the bird training,_

GOB had removed a dove from a top hat, finding it motionless, and tried removing a second, again, motionless. "Defrosted them too quickly." He returned to the freezer, reaching in again.

_And the training bird, _

Standing on the coffee table with outstretched arms, Tobias as Mrs Featherbottom sang, "Good luck will rub out when I shake my perrooo…" And stopped, "Wait, that's not it…" and inhaled again, "My luck will rub out when I shake my hands…" and stopped. "Wait." He stepped off the table with a huge thud, rattling the walls.

In her bed, Maeby had moaned.

_The noise was not optimal for someone in a state of semi-unwellness._

"Oh, sweetie, let me get you something to eat."

_Which is what Michael continued to do, for days, as he tried to hold company, and the holes around their ticky tack forts, together._

Michael eyed the precariously close hole to some foundations, "Maybe, you could dig that hole just wee bit further way from the home?"

"Noh, we're close to hitting something!" The haggard old man insisted, handing a terrified Buster a shovel. "You there, get diggin'!"

_Buster was beginning to realise how much of a hole he was in without Maeby. And after days of being away from the job she preferred, Maeby recognised she had to do something. So Maeby reached out to the only Bluth other than Michael she thought might listen to her._

Maeby sat in the old sofa of the model home. "So now I'm…stuck, I don't know what I should do. Should I tell Michael?"

Buster retreated in horror. "You're…having a baby?"

Maeby sighed. "Don't worry about it."

_And she turned to a semi-Bluth instead._

"It was an accident."

Rebel nodded, shifting the water glass on her apartment table. "I know. So was Lem."

"Why do you say you 'know'?"

"Come on, us girls, if it wasn't you would have gone and told Michael first."

"Okay, well… What do I do?"

"What do you want to do?"

"Rewind the clock so I don't doesn't happen."

"Okay, let's rule that one out. Now what do you want to do? I mean, it's already happened. But you need to be talking about this to Michael."

_So Maeby returned to her state of silence and awaited Michael's return._

Maeby lay straight on the bed, her hands resting on her stomach.

Michael returned to the apartment. "I've gotten that chicken soup, and some bread, and some green tea. He entered the bedroom. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, I guess." She answered non-chalantly.

"You don't sound better." He placed his hand on her forehead. "Still warm. Do you think you should see a doctor?"

"No." She answered suddenly. "I don't think he'll tell me anything I don't already know."

_And she'd already asked a doctor, and had resisted his Thelalapast treatment._

"What do you know?"

She gazed up. "I'm pregnant."

Michael froze, and he whispered. "I'm going to be a dad again?" He staggered, a huge smile spreading over his face. He sat on the bed and took her hand. "Aww, Maeby, Maeby." He looked deeply into her eyes.

_Maeby couldn't help but be moved by Michael's elation. She couldn't help but smile back. But inside, Maeby was not smiling. What she was and was not doing inside or out, having now confessed her secret, the time-pressed piper found other things to think about. _

Michael walked into the boardroom of grumpy looking investors. "Hi, everyone." He beamed. "Beautiful day for the business of building homes!"

At his desk, Michael waited on speakerphone.

"Mr Bluth, Complains department, Pied insurance."

"Hello, how are you today?" He glowed. "Just one tiny, small thing."

"What would that be?"

"I've been waiting five weeks to get the car back, I don't want to be any trouble…you've just been so great otherwise."

Outside the company building, Michael handed over the cheque to the filthy man. "Not every day you hand over fifty thousand dollar cheques for Yorkshire puddings!" He twinkled.

_But for an already stressed Maeby, it was hard with all those aches and pains._

Maeby straightened, surrounded by the lorries, Britons, and background hubbub.

"People, we need to stay late tonight, we are behind, tick tick!" The director waved his arms about.

Maeby glanced at her phone. "But it's dark now!"

"Yes, we've sent out for more floodlighting."

"Who's paying for that?"

"We are."

_But further industrial lighting wasn't part of their public liability insurance, so it wound up costing the Bluth Company more in the increase in premium for the muddy pit that was the Bluthon construction site than the rental cost of the lights. Something which Maeby then had to pressure out of the insurance company._

Maeby waited on her phone.

"Pied insurance, this is Mrs Bluth?" The nasal voice replied.

"No! Ms Fünke!" Maeby shouted, aggravated.

"My, my, your husband was a lot less cranky."

_Words escaped Maeby to correct everything that was wrong with that sentence. As did the call, as the phone coverage in Bluthton still wasn't great._

Maeby listened to the engaged signal, until another call came through, and she yanked the loud ringing phone from her ear and answered. "Michael?"

"Hey, how's my baby holding up?"

Maeby's started to hear a familiar song about pressure drum through her head. "Um…."

"Well just remember, Rome wasn't built in a day."

_She won't. Not in a hurry._

"I might be slightly late home tonight." He added.

"I'm not sure I'll be home for a while either."

"Oh okay, I went shopping."

Maeby groaned quietly, "Well, I guess I could be home by 6?"

"Great, I'll join you later. Wait for me."

Maeby again listened to the engaged signal, and was again deafened by another incoming call.

"Maeby! How are you!" shouted Rita.

Maeby pulled the handset away from her suffering ear. "Hey! Well my ears are great!"

"The producers told me they're doing filming at night! Isn't it brilliant?"

"Was that part of the contract? Did you discuss it with the producers?"

"Computer said no."

"Isn't the idea of a show about archaeological excavations to do stuff during the day? Like real archæological digs?"

"No, silly, they're on television!"

_And reality completely suspends for TV._

Behind Maeby, Tobias tripped and fell into a hole. "Awwwwwwwwww! Hurts…so…much!"

"How much more television will these guys be doing?"

"Good news! There's more there than we thought, so we can keep going for a month!"

"Wow. That's fantastic."

_As the reality of the construction in the housing industry was that weeks upon weeks of time cost more and more money in not building time. So from the block where there was few houses, to her own, upon returning she found the time-poor Michael and filled every nook and cranny of the kitchen with carbs, vegetables and lean meats._

Maeby entered the kitchen, finding a bowl of fruit, the cupboards bursting with pasta, rice, cereals, the fridge full of vegetables and meats.

_And then she saw what he'd left for her on the counter._

Maeby noticed an old, used book titled 'Cooking for Mama' with a stickey note, 'Hi Sweetie, will be home at 6.30 to cook for you. Love, Michael.'

_Another light shining on her secret that was already secret enough._

Maeby quickly flipped the book over as GOB walked by.

"Hey, what's that?"

"Oh, just something from the old model home."

"Michael and his old timey stuff, that looks as old as you!"

_And Maeby was just about to hear about Michael and his time._

Maeby took her vibrating phone from her pocket, reading, 'Hi Sweetie, can you start dinner? Blue tab.'

"I guess I'll blue myself." She murmured.

_So Maeby F__ü__nke, never a cook, set about making food which the book rated 'big kids and Mommies only!'. Or at least, trying to._

"Maeby, can you help me get into this?" GOB held up the sequined black feathered costume, "I can get into the top half, just the pants are a bit tight."

Maeby made a face, "why don't you get as far as you can then call me?"

_So as Maeby made Béchamel, GOB returned for his beck and call._

As the pants held around GOB's waist, Maeby sighed, leaving her Béchamel to one side.

"Stand straight." She instructed, pulling the waistband up as high as it could go.

The tall GOB looked downward onto her, catching a view down her blouse.

_And tragically, as one Bluth man saw what another had, and it had initially revolted him even though he had tried to stir her mothers' pot previously, certain thoughts passed through his mind._

"Why Michael?"

From her knees, Maeby gazed at him with a puzzled look on her face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

_And before he could get in a further thought fragment, he was constricted in the pants he so dearly wanted on._

"Never…mind…" He coughed, the nylon blend strangling his torso.

_Even if only parts of him did. Maeby, on the other hand, found out why a watched pot never boils._

She returned to the pot, finding the mixture had separated. "F[Beep]."

_Because it likes an audience. As did her uncle, who having spent a full day today, of a taxing five hours working on his trick, now needed a guinea pig, or suitable relative, to test it on._

Maeby stood at the stove, stirring the pot.

"I have it ready." GOB postured valiantly in the feathered, sequined black suit in front of the kitchen bench. "Come over here."

Maeby took the pot from the stove and placed it on a chopping board, watching her uncle from a safe distance. "This should be good." She mumbled.

"The art of the illusion," GOB flung his arms out, "and what is reality." He stopped dead, shaking his wrists, looking down one. "Wait." Then throwing his arms out again. "That should fix it."

_It did. It shot the lighter fluid out for GOB's grand balls of fire, straight into the second pot of sauce._

"F[beep!]" Maeby growled.

GOB peeked down his wrists again. "Why is it…" and peered down into it with one eye, flicking his wrist out of the way, causing the fluid to fire. "Ugh!" He screamed, and dashed towards the kitchen sink.

Maeby failed to see him move so fast, and slipped sideways with the spoiled sauce, sending it flying like oil spreading through water.

_So GOB did have a saucey night with Maeby, only not the one he'd had in mind. _

Maeby lifted her tired body from being sprawled and dripping on the floor with her unckle. She moaned, "Why, why, why….F[beep]."

_An evening her other half would not hear about._

Michael glanced at the bench, seeing dinner with a Béchamel sauce on it. "Naww, all tuckered out." he peeked into the bedroom.

_And dinner was quite good, even though she didn't have much in the way of a Masterchef to model._

In the Penthouse kitchen, Lindsay had lifted the half-cooked chicken thighs out of the water with tongs, gingerly placing one per plate.

Lucille had asked dryly, "This is what you're making? Poached salmonella?"

"It'll be fine. I'll just put the sauce on them." Lindsay had lifted the bowl to tip over the plates.

"What kind of sauce is that?" GOB had asked.

Lindsay had paused after dousing one thigh in salmonella water, "Wait, this is the water I thawed the chicken in."

"Oh. Well, that should go with chicken." Buster had watched on.

Michael then wandered into the living room, past the kitchen clock that read 10 o'clock. "You've had dinner, GOB?"

"Yeah, of course Mickey." GOB laughed awkwardly. "Hours ago."

_About half an hour ago._

"Well, I'll have to be home earlier tomorrow night, have my go with it."

_But as the Bygone Burials continue to excavate, Michael found time sliding into the evening, and despite having one brief moment to drop home to leave what he'd again intended to cook._

Maeby read her phone. "I guess I'll just blue myself again." She muttered, flipping to a different page with the same blue tab. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a box in the corner of the living room. Finding Michael's handwriting on it, she gingerly opened it.

_But instead, Maeby was to find something far more interesting than just herself._

Inside, was maternity clothes, dressings for a bassinette, baby blankets, and some soft toys. Maeby froze, her mind filling with music about being _Under Pressure_ again.

"Maeby, sweetie."

Maeby smashed the box shut and spun around to find her father. "What?"

"Daddy needs to get his delicates handled," He held up a dress, "and I need five of these pressed before Friday's show. Do you know where the iron is? I was just about to go through that box…"

"No!" She barked, "Um," She leaned her head into her palm, "Just, wait here." She disappeared off into the bedroom, reappearing with an iron.

"I better strike while the irons hot!" Tobias exclaimed, and disappeared into the living room.

Maeby sighed, and returned to the cookbook. She then rubbed her stomach, covered her mouth and dashed for the bathroom.

"Maeby, do we have an ironing board?"

She emerged through the door, shouting, "Probably." She inspected the contents of the fridge, then turned, "where's all the meat gone?"

"GOB said something about needing meat for his act."

Maeby grizzled, returning to the cookbook.

"Where's the ironing board?"

Maeby disappeared and then emerged from the bedroom, dragging out the ironing board to the living room, when she returned to the cookbook. "Everything needs meat…"

"Maeby, have you seen Lindsay lately?

_Maeby and Lindsay were getting on similar to how GOB's lighter fluid and spark, when it worked, got on and there was nothing Maeby enjoyed more than her mother and new new-found fame._

Maeby had pulled the big binders from the period wooden shelf, hurling them at Lindsay's desk, the contents of which went soaring off into the air on impact, as Lindsay took cover.

_And while Lindsay had been laying nothing but holes for Michael and Maeby so far, she was apparently pursuing the closure of the burial ground dug into the ground as one of George Senior's less successful schemes._

In a meeting at the penthouse with Michael, Maeby, Lucille, Buster, Lindsay, George Michael, and Rebel, George Senior had explained, "…The Cuatro tribe never inhabited that land. They inhabited neighbouring land. Me and Oscar moved all their remains to that land twenty-five years ago so we could run tours…what Lindsay is going to do, is get the best team of geologists in the state to look over the land, find that out, and then just guide them to where the bones ought to be. You get the land back, Bluthton is back on schedule and Lindsay is seen to be looking after American heritage."

_Also, Lindsay was still single, and there was a remote chance distracting her mother with her father might keep her mother away from her boyfriend. Remote like how Lucille might not have a martini today or Buster might land paid employment. So more likely through sheer freak accident. Nevertheless, Maeby held back._

"Let me fill you up." Maeby desperately changed the subject, taking the iron, then handing it back to him.

"Maeby, how do you iron silk?"

"With an iron." She pawed through the contents of the fridge, hunting for a meat substitute.

"What if I make dinner and you iron the silk?"

_The cookbook Michael had left believed portions from every major food group – including meat – was crucial to good foetal health. So every single recipe without fail had meat in it. Which was a problem for Maeby, as there was not a lump of meat in the entire kitchen._

"I don't have any meat, I can't make dinner."

"Where would a lady buy her fineries near here." He mused aloud, patting his Mrs Fetherbottom wig.

"I don't know, Wee Brittan, tic toc Dad!" Maeby set about laying a blouse on the ironing board.

_Maeby may have given herself the lumps, as Tobias not only had delicates, he had silks with heavy folding,_

Maeby went back and forward over the pleated skirt, while the errant creases would not move, grunting.

_And cotton blended with polyester, a fun combination for something with heavy folds._

Maeby went backwards and forwards over the enormous skirt, grunting.

_And the return to the fold of her father would not yield anything better._

Tobias returns with a packet of clock-shaped biscuits.

"What are these?"

"You said you wanted 'Tic Tocs'."

_In his quest for something that made him tick, Tobias wandered into the Colonial Consignment Mall in WeeBritain, an area where their wee outposts could sell their wares._

Tobias had stumbled over the wooden floor into the small, dark store, ceiling strung with hanging metal objects. "Ah hello." He said to the man behind the counter. "I am looking for something which Tic Tocs."

The man in the akubra had leaned behind the wooden counter. "You beaut, right the ripper, Cobber. Eyeballing dinky-di prod-uce there bloke?"

Tobias had frozen. "Dingo baby knife Kangaroo?"

"Yer Yahoo-serious." He'd laughed. "Top tucker for a sheila." He had handed him the packet.

"Oh, right, do you take American dollars?"

The man had gasped, "Crikey, green gold! Non-bogan…Two up here!"

Tobias had handed him a twenty.

The guy had started shaking in awe, causing Tobas to run.

"Vegetable mush it is." Maeby took a mallet from the second drawer, and started smashing the boiled vegetables vigorously.

_There was only so much tick tock Maeby could take. _

With the table laid out and the round clock-faced biscuits. She held up one of the biscuits, peering at it, "these are not good."

_And neither would the following day be. Which was more of the same. Maeby left the set early in a calamitous mess, Michael was stuck at work, and the adults were running riot at home._

As she entered the door, she checked her phone, a message from Michael- 'I have a journo asking about the costs to the investors of the current production, can you send them to me?'.

She sighed. "At work, where I haven't been for days."

Maeby closed the door to find half a dozen doves flapping blindly into the walls, feathers strewn over every surface, and GOB and Tobias running around like headless chickens.

"What have you guys done to get them back so far?"

"Done?" GOB strutted, "It took me three hours to get into this suit, and you want me to chase after those birds, come on!"

In full Featherbottom, Tobias clutched hands to hips. "I'm ready for tonight's performance, I can't risk smudging this makeup, it could threaten my rep-par-dey."

_So Maeby trapped the birds the only way she knew- slowly._

Maeby crept up to the sitting dove as it sat atop the shelves, and thrust the net over it, missing it by that much. Later, she flung the net onto the carpet, the bird scooting sideways and out of her grasp. And later yet, she flung the net down over the floor as she went soaring into the carpet, the bird remaining still, then flapping wildly.

_So when they were all back in the case, Maeby set about her second duty for the evening – making dinner._

Maeby flipped to the blue tab. "Michael's still not here, guess I'll blue myself again."

_And went about finding the ingredients, which again were not forthcoming._

"Where's all the vegetables from yesterday?"

"Oh, those." GOB remarked, "I had to find something the doves would eat so I tried out everything in the fridge."

"Why didn't you buy bird food?"

"Buy? What, you think I'm made of money?" GOB laughed. "Come on!"

_Maeby was about to admonish the adult, but it was London calling._

Maeby answered her phone. "Hi…well, just feed them the left over ones. No, you can't hire an emergency lorry for that. We can discuss this tomorrow. No, I'm not coming down. Well fine, bring it on." She hung up, and returned to the imminent situation.

_And was about to deal with the adults at hand, when she fell in. _

Maeby stepped forward and slipped, her hand flying, catching a glass left on the bench, causing it to soar majestically into the tiles, coming to rest in a thousand shards beside her. Her face flat to the ground, she attempted to peel her aching body from the ground, but could only whimper, her head again an echo chamber of a familiar song about pressure, as she rubbed her stomach.

_The slow twisting of her insides, the incessant insistence of her relatives, the demented demands of the English, was like the cracks running through the glass as it came to shatter, for Maeby, the reality of the tiles was as real to the glass as it was to Maeby. _

She inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, and exhaled. And picked herself, along with her handbag.

"I'm going out for a pack of cigarettes."

"Seeya soon! Hey when's di…"

_GOB was cut off from his not listening by the door slamming._

"What did she say she was going to get?" Tobias emerged from the spare room.

"Courgettes or something. Hey, help me get the bits in here." GOB carefully opened the door to the metal box again, birds wildly flapping about inside again.

_It would be several hours until Michael returned._

"Hey, guys!" he walked around the shattered glass, grinning, "How was dinner?"

GOB rounded the corner, a top-hat in hand. "Oh yeah, we were supposed to have dinner."

"What did Maeby have?"

"She went out hours ago." GOB peered into the hat. "I don't know, something out?"

Michael raised a brow and went into their bedroom, finding the bed empty. He then swiped and dialled his phone. And walked over to the window, and dialled again. And again. And again.

_And Maeby sure seemed to be out, as Michael rang her twenty times._

He returned to his brother. "She must just be outta range." He mused.

_Michael made some food from what wasn't being fed to the birds, and climbed into bed. And tried ringing again. Thirty times._

"I guess she'll be home when she feels like it."

_But he awoke to find the bed empty. And tried to reach her again. Forty times._

"I guess…she'll be home when she can be." He wondered aloud.

_But she wasn't. And neither was she the next day._

"No, I'm sorry, you'll just have to make do with Jerry."

"Jerry's a lawyer." The pom insisted on the other end.

"Yes, that's what we pay him for." Michael snapped.

_Nor the next day._

"I can't help it, make Jerry a sandwich…well…you guys know what a sandwich is. Then buy a sandwich. Okay."

_Nor the next._

"You can't stop Jerry from eating that pre-bought sandwich. It's a closed set, not a…dictatorship. I don't care what the computer said."

_So after one hundred and ninety phone calls over four days, Michael did the obvious thing._

Michael folded his arms, entering the family room. "GOB, what exactly happened the night Maeby…went out?"

GOB folded his legs underneath the bar stood. "She had to put the doves back in the cage, then I said, of course I used the vegetables to feed the doves, then she fell over and went out for something."

"Why was there a glass broken on the floor?"

"I dunno, she's clumsy."

"Was there any meat here?"

"Uh, no, I tried to buy a tiger with it. For my act."

"And why was the floor slippery?"

"Sauce from last week, went everywhere."

"Because?"

"Well, she ran into me…"

_Michael had never known Maeby to be clumsy. Except around him._

"Why did your run into her?" He then shook his hands in the air. "Doesn't matter…Tobias, what were you doing the night before?"

"I was home one night, and she handled my delicates while I bought us some Tic Tocs."

"What did she actually ask for?"

"Well apparently I was supposed to read her mind and buy meat, but…"

Michael turned his back on the queen and the magician, and took his phone out of his pocket. He went to dial her number, then stopped, a deep sinking feeling pulling him away from the call button. "She's gone." He whispered, and sat down at the dining table. "These are the days - it never rains but it pours." Michael uttered, and picked up the vodka, taking a swig.

"Are you okay, buddy?" GOB asked.

Standing up and storming over to the balcony, he flung open the door, the rush of cold air hitting his skin like a slap. "Why can't we give love that one more chance?" Michael raged. "What is it with this family!?"

GOB and Tobias, who had followed him, backed away.

_Michael had transformed into the incredible hulk, and they were turning green at the thought of facing him. _

He collapsed in a heap on the railing, clutching the bottle neck with the cold blue light drowning him.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Lindsay finds out about GOB's magic show._

"A booking under Bluth? A Magic show?" Lindsay speaks through her teeth on her office phone, "That sounds just great!"

_And takes it up with her brother._

Lindsay shouts sarcastically from across the room in the penthouse. "A magic show?! That sounds just great! Cancel it!"

"You're not my boss!" GOB retorts.

"No, but Michael is." Lindsay insists.

Michael shrugs at both of them, "Well, technically, I was never President."

_It would be fight he could walk away from._

Michael takes a b-line for the penthouse door, as GOB and Lindsay shout, George Senior and Lucille on either side, Buster in the middle with his fingers in his ears.


	7. Amphitryon and Alcmene at the Acropolis

_Michael Bluth was running the Bluth Company alone. Which is mostly what he'd done for years. Except he'd been running it with his girlfriend and CFO, Maeby. The girlfriend who was pregnant with his child, and now officially AWOL. As you might recall, Michael Bluth was always the doting father._

Michael had approached the back step, finding George Michael sitting dutifully with a bag in one hand and a fishing rod in the other, his eyes unable to lie.

"It's not happening, is it?"

Michael had grimaced. "Something came up."

Michael had stood in front of George Michael who was dressed in the suit Michael gave him for his birthday. "Enough business. In fact I got you another present, it's something I saw yesterday when I was out with Rita, it's time for us to start having some fun."

"I don't know, fun and failure both start out the same way."

In the staircar, Michael had sped rapidly toward the Mexico border, having left the girlfriend of his son in Mexico, George Michael beside him in a subdued panic. "She's going to be fine. We've just got to beat the sun. Hey, you think I'm happy about this? But, hey, we are getting that trip together we wanted, though, huh? And look, two exits to Legoland."

_So being separated from her was beginning to take its toll._

Michael stumbled into work, his tie slightly loose around his neck, his hair ruffled.

"Mr Bluth." A sharp voice intonated from the conference room.

"Yep…ah…"

_And a financial toll. So much so, Michael Bluth called in his lawyer, Bob Loblaw, to advise on whether missing an executive would cause consternation for the company._

"Nice you could make it. But I'm on the clock, so whether it's ten to nine, or ten to twelve, it's not my concern."

Michael glanced at the clock on the wall. "Wow, daylight savings."

"You're all blind…" Bob mumbled under his breath. "What can I do for you, Mr Bluth?"

Michael closed the conference room door. "I just had to ask, if an executive from this company just…disappears, does that open our liability? Limit it? Change it?"

"Well, say if a CFO just up and went, for no reason I could ascertain given the circumstances, I would say no. The constitution of your company isn't clear on who controls the finances, and your titles seem to be made up."

_A Fat Computroller is apparently equal to a CEO in blind justice. Or a President. Or a Top Banana._

Bob continued. "It won't invalidate your loan agreements, for example."

"Then, who is head of the company?"

"Technically speaking there is no head of the company, because there is a clause in your constitution stating that the founder is the head for life. But since he is no longer a stockholder,"

_As Michael had taken stock of his parents meddling,_

"Either there is nobody, or there are two of you."

_So Maeby was the boss of Michael in more ways than he knew._

"If Maeby was a stockholder."

"She is." Bob popped open his roller trolley on the ground, pulling out a wad of paper. "Is this not your signature on her employee agreement, stating she is part paid in stock?"

Michael sat back. "Yes, it seems to be."

"Then, yes. Your company cannot commit to any further agreements without both your signatures."

"Wait, doesn't that mean anything we had signed after removing the founder as a stockholder is now under question? Because it doesn't contain both our signatures."

"No, because as you've just reminded me, there's an absconsion clause in there too, if the head of the company disappears, no company agreements are valid unless they sign it."

_Otherwise known as the George Senior goes to Mexico clause._

In the dark Mexican hotel room, Kitty had sat down at the yellow table, salting her boiled egg, the tense George Senior sitting behind her on the large bed staring ahead.

"Eggs. It must be my unconscious desire to have a baby. Oh, my God, can you even imagine how cute the combination of the two of us would be? I mean, we're all out of prophylacticos anyway. Somebody used the last two on his feet to walk across the bathroom floor."

"I've made a huge mistake." George Senior had muttered to himself.

_Taking stock of anything to do with Kitty Sanchez would be a huge mistake._

Back in the conference room, Michael mused, "How is a clause that prevents a company from acting because the head as voluntarily left it legally enforceable?"

"We could test it, but given you've run through three hours of your retainer this morning..."

"Right."

"And your sister wasn't a professional nanny, and provided substandard services. So her hours didn't make much retainer."

_She was more interested in the father than the child._

In Bob's office, Lindsay had thrown her arms down in exasperation. "Why won't you f[beep] me?!"

Sitting behind his desk, he had remained unmoved. "Look, I'm not blind. You're an attractive woman, and you've been dressing like a common whore."

"Well, I've been trying."

_So Michael was in a bit of a hole. A financial one, a legal one, and an emotional one. And still had other holes to deal with._

Surrounded by the muddy pits and lorries of the stalled Bluthton building site, Michael heard his name being called out by a British voice.

"Michael! Michael!"

He turned, seeing his ex, Rita, running toward him away from a group of food lorries. "Oh hey, Rita, how are you?"

"Brilliant, how is my Michael?

"He's ah, holding up. How are you? Running a huge company, I see?"

"Yes, we're so close to the big fin-al-ee."

"What's happening then?"

"You know silly, Lindsay will be here with representatives from all the Native American nations to de-concrete-consin-consecit…the land."

"Do you mean consecrate?"

"Yes, that's what she said."

"And what else did she say?"

"They'll be lots of journalists."

"Sounds like whole lot of fun!"

_But Michael really meant, sounds like quite a beat-up._

"She said everyone will know about Bluthon and the holes in the ground!"

"Listen, maybe, just maybe, we could pull the ceremony forward? You know, just a few days or so, I'm just thinking perhaps you need to get your people back to Big Britain, it would tie up so many loose ends on our end too. I'll tell Lindsay?"

"I'll ask Lindsay!" she whipped out her phone.

"No wait, why don't I do that, and you ask your crew, Mrs Fat Computroller." He winked.

"Yes, good idea Michael, you always know what to suggest!" She swiped her iPad. "Hrm, what was the name of the foreman on the site?" She wandered off.

"No, wait for me!"

A strange voice lilted "Mr F".

From behind him, Michael heard another familiar British voice.

"'ello there."

"Hi, Trevor, how's it going?" Michael shook his hand.

"Same old. You look terrible."

"Sorry?"

"Been following that whole saga on the television, where's she at the moment? Shouldn't she be looking after you?"

"What, Rita?"

"No, no," he leaned in, "you know who, it's been written all over her and your face. Surprised she's not up the duff yet."

Michael recoiled.

"Oh, now you've really done it." Trevor patted him on the back. "Good job governor, wish the situation were all Greek to me."

Michael took to his phone, seeking justification, then he looked up. "We're not technically rel…."

_But Trevor was gone. _

A strange voice echoing "Mr F" emanated from nowhere in particular.

_As was any chance of Michael bringing forward the closure of the circus on site._

Rita returned triumphantly. "She said the computer said no."

Michael's face fell.

_And Michael was about to see the cogent working relationship in all its glory._

"But isn't this just working so well?"

Michael inspected the scene of devastation around him, pits, mud, lorries, and holes near foundations. "Yeah, so well. But um, were we finishing up filming today?

"Lindsay said we could slow down, because she was booked up for a week. And it's not like you can do building until she's here!"

"No, no we can't."

_Being away from his partner and her pregnancy gave Michael more time to muse over the minor details, including why his sister might have minimal time for Michael's business. Michael followed the mogul back to the sweeping moors of the estate, the harsh cloudy light falling on the wandering dirt, the hollow whisper of the breeze, set amongst the smatterings of kilts._

"Close to wrapping up, are they?" Michael remarked, strolling past the empty pits with dirty Brits, with Rita by his side.

"Oh yes, their wee goals are very close now!"

They stopped the director. "Take three hundred and twenty, and, action!"

Michael gestured to Rita to one side, "Wait, isn't this like a reality show?"

"They need bits for ads, Michael." Rita blinked at him.

"What is the rest of what they've been filming for three weeks?"

"Promos."

"What's the difference between an "ad" and a "promo"?"

"Oh, you know silly." She rubbed his shoulder.

_And Michael knew they were no possibility of the end of works on his land that day, nor any day with small apprehension. So as Bluth, unbuoyed by the behaviours of his supped beloved, would return to the scene of blackened Bluth acrimony._

In the living room, GOB, George Senior, Lucille, Lindsay, and Buster peered into the big box on the floor of the penthouse.

"It may not fit with the theme." GOB pondered. "I have a vision, a high-class vision."

_GOB was thinking of high-class, of another kind._

"It's not the budget, GOB, it's where you're gonna do it." Lindsay grizzled.

"I can't help it if I have star power. Pizzazz." GOB flipped his hands around. "People need to see the real GOB Bluth, it's how I'm gonna get my fame back."

_Or gonna-something back._

"I'm not sure we have a high-class budget." Michael sighed. "Excuse me." He answered his phone. "Rita, hey. Ah, no. No, I can't. I'm just with GOB looking at a new trick. He's doing a show in a week."

"A show?" the voice replied.

"Yes, you know, magic."

"Is that Rita?" Lindsay grinned, a flash of the young Lindsay flaring, "Put her on loud speaker! Come on, Michael!" She went for his phone, wrestling it from him. Michael wound up the loser in this exchange, on the floor. "Rita!" She exclaimed. "It's Lindsay, we're all here!"

"Lindsay!" Rita replied joyfully. "Is that Mom and Dad and Buster?"

"Yes, we're all here." Lindsay spoke over as their mouths positioned to replied. "How is the TV business going?"

"Brilliant! Michael, I just had an idea."

_Which was never a good thing._

In the foyer of the old model home, Rita and Lindsay, having returned from shopping, had discussed their haul with Michael in the model home hallway.

"You guys have these jackets on inside out?" Michael had asked.

"Yeah, that way you see the label." Rita had smiled.

"Yeah, I mean, that's what you're paying for, right? It's a great statement on fashion." Lindsay had added, flashing her label.

In her shared bedroom, Maeby had been hunched over the script in her lap on her bed, Rita standing next to her. **"**It doesn't have an ending. He's in L.A., she's in Japan. How do I get these two characters together?"

Rita sat next to her. "Maybe they could walk."

"Across the ocean?"

"If it's not too deep."

Over the phone to the crowd in the penthouse, Rita exclaimed, "BigBBC runs this big show every year making money for sick kids where everyone wears funny red noses. And we don't have a bit for the Americans yet. You could do magic!"

"I'll be on TV?" GOB grinned.

"He'll be on TV?" Lindsay's eyes bulged.

"For every American who has WeeBBC and BigBBC, yes!"

"Oh," they said in unison, Lindsay more enthusiastic, GOB deflated.

"We should have the whole family involved!" Rita exclaimed, "Michael can do an introduction."

The heap that was Michael Bluth lifted himself from the single chair, "Oh, that's not necessary…"

"All wearing red noses! It'll be brilliant!"

Lindsay swiped her phone,

And George senior wrapped his arms around his two sons. "Yes, yes it will be!"

_But melancholy Michael mused the unmentionable, utterly mournful, whether his Maeby had made her bed with his son, George Michael. And so he moseyed to his son, an unscheduled visit making George Michael addressing him mandatory._

Michael opened the office door. "My son! May this Monday be meeting you with merriment?"

George Michael spun around in his chair. "What?"

"Sorry…What's going on?"

"Nothing. Why are you here?"

_It was a very good question. Michael had avoided his son for months, and had now appeared being nothing but friendly._

"Just catching up with my favourite son."

"Well I'd hate to be your least favourite son then."

"Yeah…what have you been up to, lately?"

"Nothing."

_The conversation was moving in ways Michael had not envisaged, which was interesting given Michael knew how much his son thought of him at that moment. _

"Okay, well, I've been just working, working on getting the excavation work done so we can continue construction."

"Right."

"Yeah, so you're living with Rebel?"

"Yes."

"Still living with her?"

"Are you living with anyone?"

Michael considered his response, then continued, "Yes, yes I am."

George Michael gazed out the window, then headed to his desk. "I have a lot of work to get though."

"Okay, well, I'm sure I'll see you soon buddy!"

"Sure." George Michael muttered.

_But Michael couldn't let go of where his other half might be, and kept looking for her, trying to pry his wiles on the bank._

In the slightly dumpy and dated bank, at the bank teller window, Michael tried to smile through his nerves.

"Hi, look, I don't know if you can help an American?"

The vaguely interested woman stood in front of the Greek Bank sign, behind the glass panel, and smiled back. "I'll do my best, sir."

"Greek bank? I didn't know they still existed?"

_Maeby had chosen her bank on the fact that nobody would have thought they would exist,_

"As if someone will try to use a keycard from a Greek Bank! You know what I'm saying?" She had laughed to herself, the teller appearing less amused.

_Which had turned out to be true._

Maeby had stood in the shady Hollywood street, her hands in the air, as the dirty bum pointing a gun flipped through her purse with one hand. "Oh what, only thing in here is a Greek Bank card! Even I do better than you."

_Making it one of the safest investments Maeby had ever made._

"We do okay." The teller shrugged, indignantly.

"My partner thinks her card is being used fraudulently, but we think it's a relative."

_This would not be surprising for a Bluth._

A younger Lindsay had leaned back into the single seater couch on the old Model home. "And the caviar mask, and the Diamond earrings…yes, Dimondelle is the same, right? That much to ship? Wow, maybe you guys should sell houses at that price! Yeah, my name is May-ch-eel Bluth, spelled M-I-C-H…"

Later, GOB had kicked the Ottoman, the card revealing itself. "Ahh…" he picked up the phone, dialling. "Hello, I'd like to order the thirty-disk megaset. Overnight shipping."

At the bank, Michael leaned down onto his folded arms at the teller window. "I just need to know where the card was last used, I don't know if you can do a printout…."

"Well, she can come in herself, Sir, and we can see what records we can access here."

"That's the thing, she's asked me to be here."

"Okay. Well, is it a joint account?"

"No."

"How long have you been in a relationship?"

"Six months?"

"Not married?"

"Uh, no."

"Okay, well, you would need to be family, like a mother or father…"

"I'm her uncle."

The woman flinched, "You're her uncle, or her partner?"

Michael froze, "uhh…her uncle."

"Okay, well if she can't be back in town, maybe you can ask Mae's parents to come in?"

_While telling Tobias might mean only the family would become aware of it, telling Lindsay would turn it into a news story and probably a missing persons._

"Would they need to be customers here too?"

"No, they would just need 50 points of ID. Sorry, what was your name?"

"Uh, Chareth. Chareth Cutestory."

_Michael briefly considered shaving his head and donning a moustache, but decided that the bank knew enough about the uncle-boyfriend already, and would have a hard time explaining his connection to her, having given a fake name, one that was already in circulation with the law. It was one he'd used with Prosecutor Maggie Lizer in order to have a one-night stand. _

In the dead of night, Michael had carried Maggie out of the sportsbar over his shoulder.

_Needless to say, being somewhat misleading was one thing Michael wasn't particularly capable of, _

Maggie had a coffee pot in her hand. "I thought you were, like, just into this one-night stand kind of thing."

Sitting in bed, he'd replied, "Come on. I took a blind woman home with no intention of dating her again. Please!"

_A fact he already knew but had gotten caught up, yet again, competing with his brother._

In the wooden sports bar, Michael had told GOB "I'm not a one-night stand kind of guy. I don't like lying to women."

_And conveniently, ended up dating the lawyer prosecuting his father. It wasn't going to look good if the District Attorney's office got the case of him fabricating his identity. _

Michael walked out of the bank, into the mall, gazing back. "What was I thinking?"

_He wasn't. But he was comforted that she wouldn't find out. Which she wouldn't, until she checked her email and found a log of the conversation from the bank. Away from the bank, away from Balboa bay, but caught hopelessly in the breeze, dolefully and directly drawn back upon the whispering wind. _

Michael watched the multi-coloured butterfly, caught in the updraft, buffeted by passers-by, pulled left and right by the breeze.

_The creature, long restrained in its desertous, dry coffin-like cocoon, had broken free, dancing with and against the currents that pulled it. _

"Michael…Michael…"

Michael heard the voice echo all around him in the open-air mall, the other shop facades providing no clue as to where the voice was coming from. He shrugged and kept walking.

"Michael…where are you going?"

He once again, turned, scanning around the perimeter. Finding nothing, he kept on his way.

"Michael…You can speak…I can hear you."

He kept looking around, then shouted, "Hello? I can hear you too? Where are you, wait for me?"

_But Michael heard nothing, and kept on his way. He returned to the apartment, finding it strangely empty- strangely as usually it was occupied with several gatecrashers, and empty as she wasn't there. He found himself moping, eyes mopping the corners of the room, until they spilled upon something of hers, a trickle of hope._

Michael noticed her iPad on her dresser, and went to wake it. Finding it flat, he plugged it in, until it booted.

_But as she had left, the device would remain in mystery._

Michael found it asking for a code. He tried her birthday, his birthday, and the car's numberplate, and had soon been locked out for one minute. And soon, many minutes.

Michael put down the iPad. "What was I thinking?"

_He wasn't. But he was comforted that she wouldn't find out. Which she wouldn't, until she checked her email and found an alert from Apple about unusual activity. But by 2AM, Michael retired to his bed, a listless tossing and turning of a night._

Michael lifted his head, the sound of the radio's beeps gnawing at his headache,

_And he awoke to bashing the solitary clock radio on the sidetable_. _Scraping his heavy body from the mattress, body feeling like two tonnes, he swayed before the bedroom mirror. His eyes as red as a shepherd's warning, three bags full under each eye. Inside, the bleating pit of despair growing day by day, each morning harder to prepare for another day of not knowing, not seeing, but ever more feeling. His head rolled and churned, haunted._

From his phone, _Living Waters _by_ Phillip Glass _filled the room with sorrow_._

"Michael!" GOB shouted. "Where is my outfit?"

"Disappeared but for a moment, the costume is probably lost for all eternity, gone into a cold, lonely vortex, a parallel universe, of a distant galaxy divorced from this world." He mused.

"What?"

"I don't know." Michael shouted back. "Wait for me."

_Michael ambled out into the amphitheatre to face the day. _

Michael wandered through the circus that was his apartment, the bench strewn with jars of paints, unlabelled bottles of solutions, and tools. He took a mislaid sponge, trying to wipe some of the spilled paint before it stuck. And then, he found Tobias, dressed as a 50s cartoon chef, complete with toque, standing at the counter at a chopping board.

"In pants today?"

_Michael wasn't game enough to ask any further._

"Yes, while I've enjoyed wearing a skirt with the air and freedom it has given my loins, I enjoy the protection of pants, and that it makes it less likely that a hot mishap might occur." He replied, in the penguin gear. "By the way, do you have any mints?"

"And you're cooking?" Michael watched with great scepticism.

Tobias continued to grate the root vegetable. "I'm making soup!"

"Don't you need water for soup?"

"Well…" Tobias considered Michael's reality, and chose to substitute his own. "Look what I got free at the checkout! It's a "Chef's Pal"- dicer-grater-peeler all in one, never need sharpening, dishwasher safe!"

"Wow, that's amazing."

"Michael, you missed a spot." Tobias pointed, drips of paint streaking down the jar.

Michael sighed, wiping up the mess, and placing the leaking jar in the sink. He turned the corner, seeing a crumpled mess of feathers behind the sofa.

"GOB, here's your…"

_Michael hadn't set eyes on just what his brother was planning, and his eyes became alight._

Michael found the TV pushed back, the coffee table upended against the wall, and the middle of the floor four pylons almost reaching the roof spouting flames.

GOB threw his arms in the air. "With the power of Hephaestus, I command you!" He insisted, a puff of smoke, and a scrawny, weathered blond woman appeared on the opposite side of the trick. "Aw, come on!"

_And it wouldn't be long until the building's eyes would be set alight too, and on would come the sprinklers._

Water gushed from the roof, the mighty flames of Hephaestus were extinguished.

A dampened Michael held out the soggy cloth in his hand. "I found your costume, GOB."

"Thanks, Mickey." GOB grinned, the water streaming down his cheeks.

"And what do you call this that's gonna have the fire wardens here in about five minutes?"

"This is Sparta. I mean, show business. Come on!"

_The trick had a name, but Michael felt more invested in the waterlogged carpet than GOB's investment in his trick. GOB was farmed out to the muddy paddocks of Bluthton to practice._

On the side of the dusty hill slightly beyond the foundations of Bluthton, GOB's blazing trick with paint that had slightly run was set up, the pylons of fire semi-lit.

"With the power of Hephaestus, I command you!" He threw up his hands, a poof of smoke.

"I command you to bring me another tray of Yorkshire pudding!" shouted one of the crew from down the hill.

The scrawny, weathered woman again appeared in the wrong spot.

"I'm doing better than you losers, I'll be on BigBBC!"

_The irony was lost on GOB. Thankfully, none of them would need to have much to do with one another, as Red Nose Day would appear before they all knew it._

Steve Holt in a Red Nose dashed towards the stage, grabbling the arms of GOB. "Dad, is everything set up?"

"Yes, but, I don't trust those control room people," he shook his head, "Out to stop the greatest return to magic in the OC since…well…A clown I guess. Here, press play when I tell you to." He handed Steve a boom box.

"Dad, thank you for including me, magic is so awesome, and it's great to be spending time together again!"

GOB plastered on a fake smile. "Yeah, sure, buddy." He headed over to his brother, along the way muttering, "This kid…so clingy…no wonder I ignore him." He patting Michael on the shoulder. "You ready?"

"Yep, yep." Michael sighed.

GOB disappeared out the back door, as Michael stood against the back wall, ruminating.

_The room was bubbled with hubbub, the people moving and jockeying like mice with cheese. But for Michael, all he could see was the half empty glasses filled with what seemed Living Waters, dirty plates, the crumpled, abandoned napkins, and the broken petal off a centrepiece. He despaired for that petal, and pondered about how it could have come to pass. A lone suited woman shifted off the stage, drifting behind the elements. He wondered if any of the vermin in the room had done it. Gazing at his phone, he observed the time, and knew it was time for his closeup. He wondered to himself why he tried so hard but always lacked, for his days were grey and his nights were black._

Stepping in front of the crowd, the group continued in their nattering. Slowly, a few noticed him in front of them, their faces vacant, Michael feeling them talking without speaking, hearing without listening, the well his emotions had sunk into clutching its long boney fingers on him, drawing him in further to the well enveloping him, pressing him down between its hard, sweaty palms.

The railed cameras rolled forward, and a voice from the side shouted out with a thick London accent. "In five, four, three, two…"

In his red nose, Michael inhaled, as the jolly crowd went quiet. "Thank you. Ladies and Gentlemen, it is a pleasure tonight, to present a man who needs no invite," Michaels dark eyes retreated further back into his head, as pushing out every deadpan syllable was an additional effort, "a man of such skill and prowess, something which history has never addressed, for from all his feats his outcomes were jolly," The large screen behind him showed a sequence of pictures of the yacht 'Lucille' sinking through the smoke, and "to be near him when a punchline comes is never a folly," which changed to a picture of Tracey in a meringue of a wedding dress, the back of the skirt on fire, "Who brings joy and tenderness to all our hearts," a later photo from the wedding – Michael and the rest of the Bluths glaring at GOB, "who has reduced whimsy and mystical joy to its true art." A photo of a cheerful GOB with fire spurting from his sleeves opposite kids looking terrified as a bunny runs the opposite way, on fire.

A tarp of water which had been suspended from the ceiling gave way, dumping a torrent on the sullen Michael, and knocking into a horn which made a low bellow.

A gobsmacked GOB hissed at George Senior, "What the hell is that? That's not the slides?"

George Senior waved GOB away and grabbed the Microphone, addressing the mystified crowd. "Thank you, he's always such a card. And now, I give you the lovely assistants," out walked the strippers in the Greek outfits, "and cad, I mean, card, GOB Bluth!"

From the speakers bellowed 'Solid as a rock', with GOB shaking his hand, Steve Holt changing to 'The Final Countdown'

"Thank you, dad. The art of illusions, of magic, is so mystical, it goes back to the Gods of Greece."

The two women rolled forward the trick, a four-poster frame with mirrors hidden inside it for people to leap into to 'disappear', a stimulated amphitheatre curving around in the middle with a hollow rounded stone podium in the middle, none of it real stone, which was all over the puddle of water that had been left by Michael's drenching.

"A heat so raw, so powerful," he directed his hands in all sorts of angles, trying to trigger the fire in his wrists, sending fuel into the crowd. "It sets things aflame!" he waved his hands towards the four posts that rose out of the set, which remained extinguished. "Or really, really, aflame." He waved his hands again. "Really, so very much…" And they lit after a mighty flash from the fuel he kept flicking on them. He grinned, trying to cover it up.

Two or three people clapped from the crowd.

GOB waved his arms, breaking up the routine with patter, "With such power, comes such responsibility, to make the maidens, appear." He gestured towards the blond stripper, a puff of smoke appearing. "With the power of Hephaestus, I command you!"

She disappeared, and the brunette appeared behind him.

"Ah, but channelling the blacksmiths' power has been too strong." GOB waved his arms, as he jumped back, "Begone, by the power of Hephaestus!"

_But she wasn't._

The woman stood behind him, both in the cloud of fog.

He leaned backwards, uttering. "You were meant to get into the back section." He flung his arms up, "And now, by Hephaestus, begone!"

And flames shot from the podium, a ring of fire like a gas burner.

"The heat, the heat, so hot." GOB kept improvising, his arms waving. Which then stopped. "Yes, down, fire! Down!"

Again, two people clapped.

He skipped around the set, waving his arms, and he clapped his hands. More smoke, and the two women appeared on the podium.

"Ohh ha, the heat, of Hephaestus!" He waved his arms around. "With the raw power of the Gods, I call for fire!"

_Which did not answer._

"Fire!" He shouted, waving his arms around.

The flames flickered, then vanished.

"And there, we have the power, of Hephaestus." He waved his arms once more, his wrist fires coming alight briefly, turning to the crowd.

A further round of broken clapping ensured.

Back in the bright but slightly space-age studio far, far away, the pair turned to camera on the TV.

"And that was Michael and 'gob' Bluth, performing, 'The Heat of Hephaestus'." Peter Capaldi flicked his pen at the pad on the desk. "Very King Leah."

"What a brilliant pair of American clowns." smouldered Fiona Bruce.

"And I believe their sister is a Congresswoman?"

"Is that right? She will be very pleased with that performance."

"Oh she will, as a wise man once said, "If some cully can fire something up, that cully will pick the worst possible time to firing fire it up cause that cully's a cully.""

Fiona nodded. "Very sage advice there."

"And next, Rick Hashton …"

In the side room, George Senior and Lucille watched the TV coverage in horror.

"What did I just hear?" George wondered aloud.

_It's true what they say, there are more p[beep] in England. _

Lindsay shook her head in disbelief, as a woman with brown hair clipped back brushed passed her, Lindsay slipping her hand into her back and zipped her bag shut. "I am truly shocked."

The wet Michael "GOB!" Michael shouted. "The water."

"Fire, warden, mm." GOB tried hard not to laugh.

The drenched Michael wandered over to GOB. "Why, GOB, why?"

"Hey, that was going to be a foam, you got off pretty lucky." GOB pointed his finger like a gun. "I mean Michael, This is Sparta. I mean, show business."

"Speaking of show business, where is Maeby?" Lindsay questioned.

The group of George Senior, Buster, Lucille, and GOB all looked at him.

"She's not well today." He coughed.

Lindsay raised a brow and skulled her Champaign.

The deflated Michael shook his head and slipped away from the group, back to the control room. He stopped a passing waiter. "Did you see anyone in there?"

"A brunette woman with a clip in her hair, she was in a suit."

Michael gazed out into the crowd, seeing a woman like that talking to Lindsay. "How about that, huh?"

_The huge crowd reminded Michael about how alone he was, and as the mixed fortunes of the night conclude, he wandered out into the bleak darkness, the dark clouds whipping through the sky like a bitter buckaroo, thunder the flailing thrashes of a sinking phoenix, lightening the embittered strikes of an angry god, the end of the chapter of GOB's magical debut to Big Brittan. As would be the end of one other chapter, as Michael saw most of the lights go off, in Bluthon- the chairs fold down, the tables collapse and carried back into the van. The slow finish to a long process, like the end of a long day. Having signed his life away, his eyes cast over the horizon, pondering that which overtook such a calamity that saw this catastrophe of cinematography. _

Michael signed the contract attached to the clipboard, handing back the pen, the sprawl of dozens of muddy pits of promises.

_He returned to the site of his life, their life over many years. _

Michael entered the shabby, tattered model home in the nearby Sudden Valley.

_But it would be what was broken that would bring back to him joy._

Michael noticed the remains of the shattered jade plate on the bench, and pawing over it, he looked up at the corner shelf, and something came back.

_It had been a long day in Mexico, as Michael had taken George Michael, Maeby, and Bland down there to look for George Senior. George Senior's absence hadn't changed. But something else on the ride had._

Maeby had shrugged in the passenger side of the stair car, "I mean why does everyone have to date anybody?"

Michael nodded furiously in agreement, "Right, I mean isn't family enough for people? And you know, not to feel sorry for myself, but it's like I'm being forgotten here."

_But time had not forgotten Michael, and from that single conversation, Michael had seen in Maeby what he knew was lacking._

Michael had told George Michael near where the shelves now stood, "That cousin of yours is one hell of a girl. Too bad you can't date her."

George Michael's eyes had widened in anticipation.

_But not for his son. _

"I'm not a bad guy after all." Michael mused.

_She was fifteen at the time, but, for a lifelong puritan, the narrowing of his development of her appreciation left him with some comfort. Michael was going to need it, as he was due with his sister in Bluthton to de-consecrate the lot in fifteen minutes._

"F[beep]."

_And Buster finally took to one part of the spread._

"Oh, you know, I've never tried tea."

"It's a staple." Insisted the production assistant in a strong northern accent, grabbing one herself joining in on the party, "How could you not have?"

"Oh, it's always a bit more at the store than a basic coffee. Oh, and mom won't ever let it in the house, says its far too English and we paid them enough tax two hundred years ago. So, where are you going next?"

"Boston."

Standing back among the mess, but slightly away from the waiting media, Michael watched his eager sister approach.

"Michael." Lindsay grinned from ear to ear. "No Maeby, I see."

"No, she's unwell." Michael sighed. "You do recall she is your daughter?"

"My little girl? How could I forget." Lindsay brushed off, noticing the WeeBBC rapidly approaching them. "Why don't you come by my office later today?"

"Sure." Michael shrugged. "Hi, I'm Michael." He shook hands with the tightly wound BigBBC exec.

_So after many weeks of toiling in the dirt, Lindsay got her photo-op,_

Lindsay smiled for the camera, trowel in hand, muddy pits spreading into the distance.

_And Michael got his land. _

The army of media trucks set about joining the thin, unsealed road.

_And Michael returned to his other land, finding it still occupied._

Michael found Tobias at the kitchen bench again, still dressed as a 50s cartoon chef.

"What's cooking?"

"Micheal, I don't mean to have prematurely shot my wad yesterday, but I think when this soup is done, it will be a home run."

_The same soup as yesterday._

"Far be it from me to criticise new activities other than, say, getting a job, but, why do you want to cook? You can't stand cooking?" Michael questioned.

"That's not true!" Tobias exclaimed and turned, grabbing a box of chocolate drink mix. "Why don't you let me fix you some of this Mococo drink? All natural cocoa beans from the upper slopes of Mount Nicaragua, no artificial sweeteners!"

Michael gazed around the room, the long week getting to him. "What the hell are you talking about?! Who are you talking to?!"

"I've tasted other cocoas, this is the best!"

Michael flailed like a fish on land. "What does this have to do with anything?" And left the apartment, at a loose end.

_Tobias, as per usual was not talking to anyone, but was attempting to broaden his repertoire. As he'd become addicted to TV cooking shows, and thought,_

Tobias had watched Rick Hashton toss barely chopped garlic and herbs into a pot. "You just whack it in there, bob's ye uncle."

Tobias stood over the shoulder of GOB, stirring the tiny pot of cold water, who ignored him. "And I thought, if a scruffy headed Brit can get us yanks to put bangers in our mouth, then me wearing only a big hat will certainly have a big gross audience!"

_The daily grind barely grazing him, GOB sought to settle before the idiot box, watching whatever was put on for free, using the free or not-so-free mobile internet, which he did every day._

GOB walked past Tobias, and then in and out of Michael's bedroom, holding Maeby's iPad, and lazily settled in the sofa. He taps the first few numbers for the pin, then gazed up.

_Or he would have, had he been watching the code he was entering, which had he looked, he would have known was slightly wrong._

"Oh yeah, how much those Tony Wonder boots were." He muttered to himself.

The iPad, having had the wrong code entered into it a number of times, shook the numbers, then the screen started to fade, GOB glancing down just in time to catch a glimpse of it fading to black.

_And so everything must come to an end._

GOB held the iPad by both hands, as he rolled forward into it in frustration.

_Although another thing wouldn't be, not for the foreseeable future._

Gazing down from the steering wheel, Michael's phone rang, and a familiar name flashed up.

"Hi, Goran, long time no hear?" Michael answered.

"I hadn't thought you'd be putting yourself on television."

"I don't shy away from the media, you know that."

"You'll want to answer my questions then."

"What would they be?"

"Why were you heard telling a bank teller that you had a niece and were in a relationship with her, while giving the teller a false name?"

_Michael had several ways he could have gone in answering the question, none of which had obviously better outcomes than the other. All involved a level of being misleading or worse to the listener, and keeping that up was challenging at the best of times. The problem was the person who would have advised him which way to go wasn't around. So he had to take a crapshoot. _

"Look, this is highly embarrassing, and I really wished I didn't have to talk about this."

"What is?"

"I think I left my card in a hotel somewhere, and, as it is a company card, it had several names on it, so I think I'd need authorisation from both myself and my CFO to cancel it, and I was just trying to get it done…quickly."

"Why didn't you take her along? You told the teller she is out of town?"

"She's taken a few days on break."

"Why?"

"She has, you know like how doctors write 'illness' on their notes."

"So she's sick."

_Michael was successfully burying himself in ways his sister and father had never managed, and was feeling the deep pain of not only missing Maeby, but desperately needing her right then and there._

"Oh, um," He held his hand over the phone and shouted around him, "Yeah oh absolutely, mm, yes." And took his hand off the receiver, "Look, I gotta go…."

"You sound like you're driving."

"Yes, yes we can do that. Gotta go."

"Wh…."

_And Michael kept digging, hanging up on a hungry journalist. It was not the best of days. Michael found himself with a night that had not yet ended, and with something from something he thought had._

Michael gazed into Maeby's office listlessly, then spotted, folded, in the middle of her desk, a note, atop of a phone message from a 'Ms Sanchez'. He unfolded the note, hearing a familiar voice read it to him in his head.

'Maeby, I hope this reaches you, because I can't do anything anymore but write everything out, and hope you come back to me.

Do you understand how it felt? Can you understand how it felt? Your touch, your taste, your scent…your hot breath, your soft pure skin, and your lips that tasted of honey. When you called out from me going down on you. The moment I had your naked body with me in bed.

But Maeby, I go to bed and close my eyes and see those moments of drunk making out on your 16th birthday, you laying there beneath me, your eyes smiling as you edged closer as I touched you. Because perhaps we weren't as intimate then, I knew you were closer to me, and we were closer to us.

Do you know the happiest moment of my life? It was the night of the Gala for G.V.H., when your dad's hair plugs were killing him and your mom thought she could make money off it. I remember you said to me, you had nothing to worry about with me. I just need one chance to make us work. I can make you the happiest you've ever been.

I don't know how much longer I can keep lying to myself, Maeby. I know you pleaded with me to stay with Rebel. I know I proposed to her. But I need you. That day we made love, and you told me you love Michael, I can taste in my mouth. I guess there was for me a silver lining the cloud. Oh and I, I wish that I could work this out.

Please, call me. Please. I beg you. I know you haven't been answering lately, I just need to hear your voice. Xxx, George Michael.'

_Michael was wracked with guilt, his son pining for the woman he loved. _

Michael pulled out his phone, clicking on her contact, her smiling face filling the screen. He held his thumb over the 'call' button for ages, then locked it.

_The woman that had run away because of him. It didn't help, however, that Michael had never heard about Maeby, George Michael's Runaway Bride._

In the drab activity room of the hospital, the large group of geriatric patients had watched George Michael in his black-tie suit and Maeby in a wedding dress engage in a 'marriage' ceremony with a faux-official.

Maeby's head darted around in a panic. "I can't do this. I can't do this."

George Michael had started, "But, we aren't..."

"What am I doing?! We're not... We're not..." She lifted her skirt, revealing white running shoes, and had made a dash for the exit.

_But from family member to family member, office to office, Michael sought out his less than subtle sister for the requested meeting at her office._

Michael waved backwards as he walked into Lindsay's office. "Thanks."

Lindsay spoke quickly over the phone, "And twenty in D. N. Quarry, yep, ok." As she walked from the bathroom in a tight suit. "Michael. Good to see you've come." She seated herself lasciviously.

"Yeah, have you heard from that journalist guy? I think he and the SEC might be working on something, I heard a voice talking to me in a shopping mall and he knew about me visiting a bank, and then Tobias…"

"No, I've not spoken to him. At all. In a long time." She interrupted.

_She had been receiving regular emails, however._

"You wanted to discuss the Bluth Company?" He directed.

"I do. It could have a greater footprint in Orange County. It could be a lot bigger." Her eyes fell to places they shouldn't.

"What are you proposing?"

"There's a lot Bluths can do for each other."

"Like what?"

She walked to the door, locking it. "We can't have people walking in on such a sensitive conversation." She perched on her desk. "There are tracts of land that could be released by Washington. Tracts that could be earmarked for certain development, of which only a company with special abilities. Ones which could be developed quickly and inexpensively, if you knew what they were."

"What do you want for this?"

"A special partnership."

"What do you mean?"

She stood up, walked over to him, unbuttoning her jacket and unzipping her skirt, leaving a black lace lingerie with matching suspenders and black pantyhose with stilettos. "I want to know that you're mine."

Michael gasped. "Ah, what about Tobias, your husband? He misses you, he said only…two hours ago he did."

_In his heart, Michael knew Tobias was thinking it._

She climbed on top of him, spreading her thighs over his legs. "I don't care about Tobias. The media don't care about Tobias. Nobody knows who he is, Lindsay Fünke can associate with any Bluth she wants. I want the CEO of the most powerful corporation in my district by my side. Admit it, you were always interested in me!" she reached for his buckle.

"I have a partner already, Lindsay! And how will the media not know we are related?"

"Don't you worry about the media. You worry about the future of the Bluth company, if you don't take this deal."

"We're continuing to grow, I'm not worried."

"Michael, you will believe in me, and I will never be ignored."

"Lindsay, you're going to be a grandmother."

The new grandmother swiftly responded with a palm across his face.

He gently touched the rapidly reddening skin. "That must be a Fünke response…"

"How could you knock her up?" she raged, pacing across the floor.

"I didn't…I love her, we want to have a family together."

"She's twenty five years younger than you, your niece, and the CFO of the family company!

"Twenty three, actually. Do you know her birthday?"

Lindsay's eyes darted the room. "That's not the point."

"It's September 22nd."

"Your son is her age!"

"I'm not pretending there weren't be a gap with George Michael's half sibling, but I always wanted to have more children, and it's happened."

"Have you lost your mind? Am I the rational person here?" the Congresswoman put her hands on her hips in her lingerie. "We can run rings around everyone else, I can do anything from this office, she needs someone her own age, and you need to not run this company into the ground." She thrust her finger in his face. "You knocked up my daughter. You know what you need to do."

_And at that very moment, he did._

"So do tell, dad, how did this happen, did you forget, or she forget…?"

Michael shrivelled into the floor, incredibly bashful. "I don't know, she was responsible for it, I guess. We never talked about it."

"You were having sex with a woman her age, and yet you don't discuss contraception? Did you not learn anything at all from that lesson dad gave us?"

Near the swimming pool of their own home, with a prosthetic arm floating next to a face down realistic mannequin in the water behind them, Jay Walter Wetheral had held out a handful of condoms to the group of terrified Bluth teenagers.

"And that's why you always use protection."

_That's enough of that story._

"I don't know."

"You have sex with my daughter, you failed to use protection with my daughter, and you knocked my daughter up! What were you thinking?!" Lindsay clucked like a mother hen.

_He wasn't._

"Wait, wait…isn't this just history repeating? What is that that GOB…"

Michael raised his hands in the air like a shield, "Wait, wait, wait, let's not go there."

_Michael really didn't. It was an inconvenient truth._

And he went in to shut the conversation down. "Not to change the climate here, and, not suggesting you wanted to weaken my bargaining position before I came here, but, I saw your staffer leave the AV room at GOB's big Magic show after the slide show had gone wrong, and I also saw them on the stage, you know, at the back, before the show. Okay?"

Lindsay rolled her eyes. "Agreed."

_The meeting had left Michael aching, from, besides his cheek which still hadn't recovered, the gaping hole in his heart driving his mind to the limit. And neither would he pick up on the lesson from his next attempt to locate his CFO._

Michael entered the brightly lit store, with the islands of phones strapped to the centre displays, and the staffer staring at his screen from behind the desk.

"Hello Sir, can I help you?" the skinny man bubbled.

"Yes, I'm looking my partner's phone, I think she might have left it while we were on holiday?"

"That's no good. Where is she today?"

"She's not well, she sent me here."

"I'm sorry sir, we need to get her authorisation to speak to you about her account."

"Well ah, I'm her husband."

"Do you have ID, Mr Fünke?"

"Isn't her name on file, Bluth?"

"Why would it be?"

"We've been married for a while now."

_The staffer could see the date of birth and was curious how long the probable scammer in front of him had thought they were married._

"Oh, six years?"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you." The man shook his head, a burly security guard with folded arms joining him.

_But they were able to tell Maeby, who was about to receive a message about someone trying to access her account. From the corner of his eye, though, Michael caught the ultimate cost of being free._

The rainbow coloured butterfly flapped wildly, its broad wings fraying at the edges as it hopped, edging forward across the pavement. He kneeled down, and it crept onto his finger.

_Battered by the absolute freedom of its short life in the wind, Michael lifted the creature from its concrete existence, and into the final beats of its life._

He stood up, its wings slowing. He pulled out his phone from his pocket, snapped a photo, and typed, "There is so much beauty in this world" and sent it to Maeby.

_Caught in the spectacle, he momentarily forgot the present predicament. _

The creature fluttered, and through struggle, lifted into the air, a sudden gust of wind flinging it to one side, and away from Michael.

_Seeking to throw off some of his own chains, Michael decided to try activities slightly less destructive._

Propped on the edge of his bed, Michael strummed the old guitar, staring at cords on the phone screen balanced on a chair.

"Life I have isn't what I've seen, sky's not blue and field's not green, Wait, for me…Wait, for me."

"Dad?"

He lifted his head, "Oh hi, George Michael."

"You've broken out the guitar?"

"Yes, I felt it was time to brush up. I was feeling a little rusty."

"Really?" George Michael's eyes crossed the room. "Rusty like when you broke up with Rita?"

"Yep."

"Where's Maeby?"

He gazed wistfully out the window. "She's meandering for some groceries to fill our empty pantry."

"What?"

He realised he was warbling. "She's shopping."

George Michael scrutinised his father, knowing he was lying. "While she's sick."

"Yep. What are you doing here?"

"The same thing you were doing visiting me."

"And it's so good to see you. Too."

_And the father and son went onto enjoy each others' company, catching up on the many good times on which they needed to catch._

George Michael and Michael exchanged glances, shuffling awkwardly.

Michael propped the guitar against the wall. "Well, ah, I think I left something at the office."

"Me too." George Michael left the room.

_And Michael returned from his vertical bed, to his horizontal bed, but would not find peace._

Michael lay back into his chair, drifting off, staring vacantly at the wall, until he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Oh hey, come sit down." Michael offered Rita a chair. "What brings you here to our insalubrious…place?" he coughed.

"I haven't ever seen the address that's on all those letters you send me." She smiled. "I had my driver bring me here."

_It had taken Rita to some interesting places. _

Rita had peeked out the window of the limo, eyeing off the enormous structure with its huge pillars.

Later, Rita had peeked out the window, seeing the casino with its flashing lights.

_And more often, less interesting._

Rita had walked through the sliding glass doors, towards the wall of mailboxes. "Wow, these ones have the silver thingies! And black on top!"

"Are you alright, Michael?" Rita switched into a Scottish accent. "You look as grim as the moors of Scotland."

"Moors of Scotland?"

"It's something the crew keep saying to Buster. And Trevor. And me sometimes too."

He cleared his throat, "No, I'm okay."

"You don't look like you, I can send you to my doctor if you'd like? He made my b[beep] well."

"It's nothing a doctor can help with, I miss Maeby. She's been gone for two weeks now." He stared into the carpet. "I don't know what to do."

_Rita hadn't heard the rumours, or rather, understood the rumours, that Michael and Maeby were dating. In her usual doe-eyed innocence, she presumed what most people wouldn't. Which she did a lot._

In her plush office, Rita had browsed the BBC website on her tablet, while Trevor stood back to the wall. "That's so nice they didn't make Prince Harry take a DNA test when they did testing for being related to the old king found in the carpark, they must have known Harry was scared of needles!"

"Then you must find her. Look in the mountains, in the sea, in the sky, on the moon!" She thrust her arms out, running in a circle like and airplane.

"The moon." He whispered.

_Michael's mind raced back to before the family split, when a younger him and Maeby were packing the remnants of the company Christmas party into his car. This was after the bedroom incident, by the way. The day had finished and the night had fallen, and Maeby and Michael felt the sea calling._

They had leaned cross arms on the jetty railing, a full moon throwing cool blue light over the deep blue sea.

"That was awkward today." Michael had laughed, mostly to himself.

"I don't think most of them noticed, there was a fair bit of Christmas cheer going around."

"Maeby, where do you see yourself in ten years?"

"I have no idea. The mastermind behind KAOS? Making good John Travolta films? Sleeping in a pile of money?"

"Good ones?"

"The last good one was Swordfish. And you know it. Why, is this an interview now?"

_Michael looked at the defiant teen, dutifully noting her calm measure and reaction to the situation that day, drawing an uneasy longing from within him that perhaps one Bluth might not Bluth it up. _

He had had watched the sea throw beams of light across her strong features punctuated by freckles and soft ringlets, and had trouble trying to draw his words out.

"No. But you shouldn't ever undersell yourself. Don't forget that."

"Okay." The teen had turned back to the ocean, staring out.

_And the moment they had consummated it all._

The moon high in the Phoenix sky, their lips had ravaged each other on the balcony.

_So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past._

Rita smiled. "Did I make you happy again? It makes me sad when you are sad." She pouted.

"Thank you." He patted her on the shoulder. "You did."

_Michael returned to their abode, eyes scanning for a glimmer of hope, of light, in his sea of stuff. Instead, he found his brother, seemingly just returning, and his stuff, strewn like debris from a ship whose boughs had broken._

Michael turned to his brother, in the kitchen. "Hey GOB, thought you were gonna clear the decks?"

"Oh, ah yeah, because I have a lot of time on my hands."

Michael noticed a lanyard around GOB's neck, reading 'Balboa Bay Mall'. "Wait, you have a job?"

_GOB was not used to being recognised, and would become agreeable to anything if he felt it would make himself more popular with those who knew him as a magician._

GOB walked through the mall, past the Greek Bank.

A short, portly Greek man had shouted from its door, "The mighty GOB!"

GOB had turned around, grinning from ear to ear, "Yes, it is I." He struck his hands to his hips.

"I read you doing that trick in the church."

"It's ah, illusion, and yes, there was a twist." GOB had stammered.

The man had winked at him, "You good speaker, I give you something."

_Which wasn't quite what GOB had in mind. _

GOB had sat in the control room at the mall, microphone inches from his mouth watching the LCD screens, until he saw Michael. He'd leaned in, speaking to the microphone. "Michael…."

GOB threw up his hands in exasperation. "Who knew to beware of Greeks bearing gifts?!"

"Not common knowledge." Michael shook his head.

"And I can't quit, the guy is a fan." GOB shook his head in in frustration. "Who knew being famous was so hard?"

_Giving up on the battle for his home, he slept in his home of the famous and wannabe famous, then returning to the place which had journalists chasing him._

Michael sat down at his desk behind his computer, tapping away on the keyboard.

_It was easier than thinking, to do, all day, and then, all night. Physically, at least._

Later, Michael awoke at his desk, his stubble scratching his arms as he lifted his head. He stared mournfully at the screen, sighing, wondering about who would take over the actuary work on it. From the bottom of the screen, the text changed.

'1 USER LOGGED IN.'

He madly clicked on the text, and it pulled up the list of username and details currently on the system. Including hers.

He went to scroll down using the END key, mashing keys, and PRT SCN flashed in the corner of his screen. However, the web interface refreshed, and login details were gone.

He shook his head. "No, don't say that! No! No!". He returned to slumping over the desk, more dejected than before.

_But Michael had a brainwave, of what PRT SCN meant. While Michael had usually skipped out on IT, the Bluths had always well used one functions in computers._

Leaking from every pore his gym gear, Tobias had continued to lean over the direction of the Kay-Pro.

"Hit Print screen, it'll print the screen." Tobias had told him.

An image then scrolled out of the attached ancient beast of a printer.

_Michael tried to follow this logic by visiting all the printers on the level, but none had printed the screen. He returned to his desk, dejected._

"I wonder if I just [blank] it…"

_Michael [blank]ed for Printscreen XP, and found out computers had gotten slightly more complicated since the Kay-Pro._

"Okay, so I go into paint…and I go…edit…paste…"

_Michael had never been so glad he'd remembered something his brother-in-law had told him._

"File…print."

_And this time, it did. Beside the login name was a series of numbers, which Michael had no idea what to do with. But he knew someone who could._

In the less than salubrious bar, GOB eyed the eyecandy at the bar, winking from a distance, with a poured drink beside him on the small bartable.

"Why are you asking me, Michael?" GOB asked.

"Because…you're the most well connected guy I know."

_He was a little short of options._

"But you've gotta keep it on the low down, okay?" Michael added.

"Of course, brother."

"I need an IT guy to tell me what those numbers mean, and the rest of the family can't know about this."

"Absolutely. I'll help you Mikey."

_So GOB called the IT guy he knew._

"They're an address for a computer. Who did you say this was for, by the way?" George Michael asked.

"Oh, just a guy, you wouldn't know him."

"It's a geographical location."

"Okay."

"Like an address."

"Yeah."

"It's coming up as…"

_So GOB wrote down the city._

"Are you sure I won't know him?"

"Yeah, he's like top secret, a real man of mystery, wooo-ooo-ooo…I gotta go!"

"Wa…"

_GOB hung up on him. Then put his next call to silent. And his next call. And his next call. _

"This kid….so clingy…no wonder Maeby rejected him."

_Then dialled again._

Michael gazed blankly at the office wall, his haggard body sinking into the weathered chair.

_All Michael saw, and could feel, or could long to feel, was her soft lips, warm, supple curves, and brown, searching eyes. Those times when they vegetated on the couch together._

At Michaels's apartment, Maeby snuggled into his broad chest, her head resting on his shoulder. He slipped his arm around her, pulling her in closer, the scent of her hair wafting.

_Those times when she enwrapped him while he made love to her. _

In their bed, pieces of the plate Michael cared about years ago laid on the sidetable, Maeby's tired legs had wrapped around his torso, softly moaning into his mouth as she felt their bodies meet. "Maeby…Mmm…" He'd cooed, lost in how connected he'd felt to her.

_Those times when he woke in the morning, and found her next to him. _

His eyes had fluttered from the tepid Californian day drawing him out of sleep. He'd reached passed the strip of photobooth photos, switching off the alarm clock. Sitting up silently, he'd watching her as the light drew soft beams over her bare shoulder, cheeks, and curls, soft lips curled into a gentle smile as she sighed, content.

_He was awoken from the illusions by GOB._

Michael answered his phone.

"Mickey, my brother!"

"Do you have it?"

"I might have it."

"What do you want?"

"I need a Tony Wonder's high increasing boots for my act."

"Done. Where is she?"

_So Michael started his own mad dash to chase the woman he loved._

He threw himself into the leather seat of the Corvette. One hand turning the key, he texted franticly, "Wait for me."

_On the next episode of Bluthton, George Senior continues to seek out alternative ventures, the company he founded still out from his grasp._

"Come on, dad, it's a way to promote the family name." GOB insisted.

"You kidding? That performance was a total [beep]."

"No, but, we could start again. Be the Bluths, of BigBrittan." He gasped George Senior's shoulder stretching his arm out into the distance. "A Commonwealth of Bluths, if you will."

_And George Senior was desperate, really desperate, and for once listened to his son. _

"Well, um, I guess Rome wasn't built in a day. Wait, where did I hear that?"

_Unfortunately, the wrong son._


	8. Beautiful Vista

_Michael was out for a long drive in his short red Corvette. It would take Michael six hours to reach his destination. He took time to catch up on some thinking,_

"Maybe we should extend out the repayment plan for ninety-nine months, or ninety eight? What would come up better on the infomercial?" he mumbled.

_Brainstorming,_

"Bluthton…Manor? Bluthton…bay? Bluthton…the second?" He dictated to his phone, which took down, 'Blue town manners', 'blue town bey', and 'blue town the sexhound'.

_And some old favourites,_

In his electrically-deadpan singing voice, Michael contributed to the music, "Two steps back, we come together, coz opposites attract…"

_Before he would be close._

Parked on the side of the road, the red dust and sprinkling of green scrub spreading into the distance, Michael swiped his phone.

_And closer than he had been to happiness for weeks._

Standing in front of his car, Michael's eyes scanned the distance, spotting her sitting at the black heart-shaped fountain.

"Maeby!" He ran up to her, stopping short. "I've missed you so much, please come home."

The serine, yet effortlessly glowing Maeby gazed listlessly into the fountain. "This is where my life changed, Michael."

"How?"

"Where I said no to George Michael, and chose you."

He took a deep breath, dreading the words as they escaped his lips "Do you still want to be together?"

She ran her manicured fingers over the surface of the water.

"What do you want?"

She patted her abdomen. "I want this kid to have parents. Like I never had."

Warmth radiated through Michael's body and he smiled, kneeling before her. "This is our baby. We're in this together. I'm here for you, always."

A car cruised past, the song _I choose you_ by the _Chicago Gangers _booming from the speakers.

She gave in and looked back at him, and he took both of her hands, pulling her up.

"You've seen me be a dad. But I don't want to just be a dad. I want to be there for you as well. I choose you, Maeby. I don't care what the family says, I don't care what the media says, all I care about is our family. Please let me take you home."

"Okay." She whispered. "I missed you." She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in.

He nuzzled her nose, seeking her lips with his. She turned her head, burying it in his shoulders, then she pulled away.

"I'll need to get my stuff out of the hotel."

_Maeby packed her things, hoping it would be the last time she would HateLove again._

She slipped a photobooth strip of photos of them from against the clock radio into her wallet.

_And they hoped it would be the last time they HateLove'd._

The car sped along the dusty road, with _I'll be your Shelter _by _Taylor Dayne_ pumping from the speakers.

"Wow, where's this music from?"

"I found a tape in a box Mom left." He cleared his throat. "I would like you to come home. It's where we're going, isn't it?"

Maeby murmured.

"It's not that you're having our baby. Well, I mean, yes it is, I know you ran off from me, and the interruptions from people hailing from the Queen, and the…other Queen…"

_And the other, Queen._

"What I'm trying to say with sleep deprivation dangerous to me at the wheel is, we're in this together, what do you need to come home, and I'll do my best to make it happen."

Maeby responded without hesitation. "Our own place."

He paused. "Sure."

_At that point, with that sleep deprivation, he would have agreed to buying a troupe of circus seals. So he got off lightly. But Michael knew this time, that his young Yoko would make sure the band would not be getting back together._

"Hey, do you remember this song?"

"Wasn't it from 1991?"

"I Think so."

"The year I was born?"

"Really? How about that."

"Speaking of being past it, can we stop the car?"

Michael pulled over, and Maeby tore off into the scrub, losing her breakfast. He closed the door behind him, glancing into the distance over the other side. When she returned, he suggested, "why don't we stay here for a bit, being out a moving car might help."

_It would also help the exhausted Michael not have a second car accident in his current insurance policy._

Maeby scoured the distance. "If we can find anything in this whole lotta nothing."

"I think they do farming out here." Michael peered at the rolling fields of nothing.

_They wouldn't be anything soon, as the Unspecified Friendship Treaty between the US and other governments would do away with costly farm endowments that would 'liberalise free land use and workers to better efficiently distribute finite financial macatives'. Or at least, that's what Lindsay's press release said. Away from the farms, they sought a higher beautiful visa buff._

Once they'd crossed the four-lane separated road, and navigated the barriers, they came to a bluff with a steep rocky downward passage. He knotted the tips of his fingers through hers, gently tugging her along the sandy path between the green scrub, the grey sky and blue misty spray spreading out into the distance. The slow decent of the cobbled path ended on the pebbled beach, an opening in the middle of pale, soft sand. He let go of her fingers and they walked slowly down the beach, stopping at the edge of the water, as the waves thrashed into the sand bank, against the darkened sky, threatening to crash into thunder at any minute.

"I didn't realise the beaches down here were so beautiful." She marvelled.

"It's gorgeous outside of LA sometimes. But, they're nothing, compared to you." He stroked her shoulder.

She smiled inwardly, gazing down at the sand.

_Part of Maeby had missed Michael's corniness, it was, as she'd say, him going 'all Michael on her'._

"Come, sit here." He patted a large rock.

Maeby sat on top of it, Michael kneeling down beside her into the sand.

He grabed his phone, flicking up and down. "Wait, give me a sec…no…um…there." A tinny Karaoke version of the chorus to _How Am I Supposed to Live Without You_ by _Michael Boulton _came from the speakers. "Maeby, how am I supposed to live without you?" He struggled to hold key, in his usual monotone pitch, gazing earnestly into her eyes, "now that I've been loving you so long? How am I supposed to live without you?" He took her hand, kissing it. "How am I supposed to carry on? When the Maeby I live for, is gone?"

_This went on, as the gulls dived into the bay in the distance, the choppy sea flipping and dancing across the Pacific, as one desperate man pleading earnestly with one woman._

The warmth returned to her dark eyes, her lips pursed in pent-up frustration gently parting. Michael leaned up, kissing her, hand caressing the small of her neck, feeling the bleak estrangement from his lover over.

"That was better than Afternoon Delight."

He pulled her up. "That was your trainwreck too."

She tucked a chunk of hair behind her ear. "This is so hard, Michael, I just…" She stared out onto the bay.

"Please tell me."

"I keep vomiting all the time, I keep wanting to eat brownies with ketchup, dad won't shut up, the house is a mess, Kitty won't stop shouting…" tears started streaming down her cheeks.

_This was not the first time Maeby had cried, but it was the first time in fifteen years._

The elaborate table held a spread of kings of various healthy and unhealthy options.

_It was Maeby's ninth birthday. But her parents had scheduled a buffet luncheon for fundraising for hair cancer, a new disease Lindsay thought she might have. _

Maeby had held the bowl of icecream in her hand, which Lindsay pried from her fingers before she could start.

_And part of the cure was to go vegan. Which of course, Lindsay obeyed when Maeby was awake._

"Mom, why can't I have an ice cream?!"

"We're vegan, sweetie! Can't hurt the cows."

"But all the other kids have one?"

_Children of other donors. Not one of the small number of people Maeby regarded as friends._

"You're special, you can have the beancurd we brought." Lindsay scooped out the brown muck from the tub pushed to the back. "I mean, we've got thirty tubs of it from that hippie last week. Someone's gotta eat it."

_It was not the most happy birthday for Maeby._

The young Maeby uncharacteristically shed a tear, as her mother left to tend to other donors.

"Hey, hey!" He wrapped his arms around her head, hugging her. "I'm here for you, I know things are hard, it can get that way when you're going to be a Mommy."

_Michael Bluth had experience in consoling women he'd made pregnant._

At a not dissimilar beach, a somewhat pregnant Tracey had bawled, "…and they won't let me take time off work, and I can't get Opposites Attract out of my head, that cat, why won't he stop moving?!…"

"Hey hey!" He'd wrapped his arms around her head, hugging her. "I'm here for you, I know things are hard, it might get that way when you're going to be a Mommy."

He guided Maeby backwards onto the bench, wrapping his arm around her back, her head nuzzling into his neck, as they sat on the smooth pebbled rocks. His shirt went damp from her hot tears, while he kissed her forehead, and rubbed her back. He whispered, "Maeby, if you ever, ever, feel like you did when you left, or know you're going there, stop me, whatever I'm doing, and tell me. Please. I love you."

Maeby made agreeable noises through her sobbing.

"Wait, what…Kitty? Kitty Sanchez? Why is she shouting at you?"

"I took her off the books, she was getting paid like the rest of the family."

_Another George Senior Easter egg in the company Constitution._

"So she started to call at all hours."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

She brushed tears from her eyes. "I don't know. I guess I was trying to fix things on my own."

_Kitty Sanchez was the Personal Assistant to George Senior, who did more than just his typing. The same way Lucille had Oscar who did more than keep her company, when George Senior went off to Mexico, with Kitty. But Kitty was the opposite to Oscar – more cray-cray than smooth and mellow._

Michael had stood opposite Kitty in the reception area.

"There absolutely will be a margarita in my mouth! Spring break!" She had yanked up her red turtleneck, "Wooo!" and she'd pointed to her face, "Up here, Michael. Up here."

Michael had tried not to take in the naked torso of his father's lover. "Put the shirt back down and keep on moving, okay? You're fired."

She had narrowed her eyes and lowered her jumper, heading towards the elevator. "I work for your father. You don't have the hiring and firing power."

"I absolutely do, and you're fired." He had folded his arms, and sharpened his tone.

Kitty had lowered her tone, "I don't think your father is gonna be very happy about this. So take a good look, 'cause it's the last time," and lifted her jumper, as the elevator doors closed behind her.

Michael shook his head, "How many times have I told her…"

Maeby shrunk into the ground, "It's not that, I'm just…a total write off at the moment, I don't understand what's happening to me. I've told actors to lose five pounds and our British arm to lose five million pounds and five hundred employees, why would telling Kitty she was losing five hundred dollars a week be hard?"

_It was Kitty Sanchez. He had innocently been pretending to an investor to know the themesong a TV show he'd never seen before, when Kitty interrupted them._

Michael had stood with Cal Cullen, a potential investor, in the reception area, innocently discussing Sugarfoot, when Kitty burst in on the conversation, black t-shirt currently down over her denim skirt. She had directed her threat towards Michael.

"I've kidnapped your father, Michael, and I have a cooler full of evidence that will bring down this corrupt company. Unless your mother meets me today at 4 at Señor Tadpole's. Spring break. Whoo!" and up went her t-shirt again, displaying to Cal the crooked boobs.

"You just need some time away from it all." Michael stroked her shoulder. "Why don't we pull into a motel and spend a few days down by the beach?"

She nodded. "I guess the company will be okay."

_It wasn't like it could spend any money, with its management both under the absconsion clause. _

_So they found a little place, which may or may not have been familiar to Michael._

A young Tracey had signed the reservation book in the fresh, 90s lobby. "I know it's new, Michael, but are you sure this place is a good idea?"

"I'm sure it'll be great."

Michael stepped carefully up the worn adobe staircase of the motel, behind Maeby.

"Are you sure this place is a good idea?"

Michael swiped his phone, "Apparently it's improved."

As Michael shut the room door behind him, he watched Maeby strip off her shoes and jeans. She turned, seeing him barely holding his head up from exhaustion, but still gawping.

"The ah, bathroom looks cleaner from here. That's a plus."

_It wasn't entirely the time he'd had away from her. Maeby did look better, as she'd had nothing to do for several weeks in a town that had not a lot going on. After she'd been to the Grand Canyon,_

Maeby had gazed down from the helicopter window at the impressive craters below her. "Cool." She remarked in a little more than a deadpan fashion.

_And been scintillated by the museums,_

She'd gazed up from her phone at the blue plaques on the beige wall, barely putting in the energy to read the white text description, before returning to her phone,

_Or been over stimulated, _

In the back of the taxi, she had peered out the window, tracing the silver sign jutting from the white Pueblo Revival building that read "Heard Museum."

"Wait…wait…no, this is too much right now, drive."

_So instead of spending her days improving her inside, Maeby characteristically opted to chose it improving her outsides._

She had laid back in the white beauty chair, face lathered in a white mask with cucumbers over her eyes.

_And from all the food and other substances put on her, Maeby was oozing, from top to toe. Which may be why Michael wanted to eat her all up._

She sighed, dropping the layers from under her t-shirt on the floor, crashing into the double bed with her back towards him.

Noting her reservation, or a version of noting from someone who had little to no sleep in a long time, Michael removed only his pants and slipped into bed beside her, and was out instantly.

Later, Michael rolled over, and started to beam, finding the woman he loved who was pregnant with his child sleeping peacefully beside him. He watched her eyelids flutter and longed to embrace her.

_After weeks of being away, Michael had finally gotten the eighteen hours of sleep he badly needed, and won in the process, a sense of place and a sense of peace._

Her eyelids flicked open, and her expression changed. "I don't feel so good." She threw off the covers and dashed toward the bathroom, Michael hearing her losing her last meal.

"Honey, do you want some help?"

"Can you hold my hair?"

Michael took her side, holding her hair above her head, and rubbing and patting her back.

At the sink, she wiped her face with a towel. "Four more to go." She muttered, and left the bathroom. "Well, today."

"Should calm down soon, the first few months are always rough."

"That's…just…great."

Maeby wandered out to the balcony, crossing her arms, leaning against the mesa wall of the balcony, Michael following her.

_Maeby had been struggling for a while, unsurprisingly, and while many women actively want to have a baby shower, Maeby felt like she was being showered with babies._

"I didn't see my life happening this way, I'm going to be a mom at 24. How am I supposed to run this company, or another company, or even see the world? It's so…final. I'm a mother now."

"You…we…can still do all of that. It'll just mean that there are three in our family." Michael replied, almost bubbly, and toucher her shoulder.

"No, you don't get it." She snapped and resisted him, "this isn't what I wanted, I'm not one of those homebodies whose life goal is to have a brood to chase and vise versa." She exhaled. "I don't even know if I wanted kids. My childhood was lousy, how can I bring others into this world? I'm so selfish." She anguished, a flood of bad childhood memories surging through her, all the feelings of hopelessness, loneliness and an innate desire to rebel resurfacing.

"Nothing that happened to you growing up, has to happen to our child. We'll make sure it doesn't. You can be, whatever you want to be, I have always told you that. But you've got so much to give as a mom, you know how not to parent, that's a lot more than many parents know. And there is nothing less selfish than wanting to make a positive change to the world, bringing undamaged Bluths into the world has to be one of the greatest gifts to nature."

_Sort of. For the most part._

In his bedroom at the model home, George Michael had struggled to his father, "But if I fail math, there goes my chance at a good job and a happy life full of hard work, like you always say."

Maeby squinted, "Wait, wouldn't they be Bluth-Fünkes?"

Michael went quiet, "Yeah, of course, Bluth-Fünkes."

_For Michael, yes he'd seen it before. Just little bits of history repeating. _

Tracey had leaned over the brand new mesa balcony, also wailing. "I just thought I'd get to do more, I thought I'd get to go and see Europe, fly in a Concorde, eat some whale."

The young Michael had stepped towards her. "You can still do all of those things, there's nothing stopping us…"

She'd snapped, "No, Michael, how are we supposed to run the business from home? I'll be stuck there."

"Well, the new Kay-Pro is out, and you can now print from it in under ten minutes, and send faxes in under two hours! It can even calculate a row of numbers in under three minutes!"

_Sort of. When it wasn't shorting out._

She'd looked at him as if he had two heads. "Michael, I'm a investment banker specialising in trading commodities. They don't accept faxes. They won't even accept letters."

"Honey, I'll make sure it works."

_And so George Michael spent the first seven years of his life with his Mom at home looking after him. Back in the beach, Micheal's current catch was needing some fresh air._

Turning on her heels back into the room, "I'm going for a walk." Maeby announced as she slipped on her shoes.

_He'd remembered the end of the earlier conversation this time, and wasn't about to ask the same question again._

"I'll presume you want to do that on your own, but, I'll be here if you need me."

"Very perceptive of you!" she disappeared around the corner.

_Spending another day at their beachside escape, and an evening watching Rita's chanel, _

"And it was confirmed today by exclusive BigBBC sources that Prince Harry is in fact, afraid of needles."

Maeby and Michael stared, flopped on the bed.

"Wonder where they got that from." Maeby mused.

_they awoke late morning, did brunch, then returned back to the motel._

Michael saw Maeby leaning against the railing, staring out into the sea. "Wow, one thirty," Michael yawned. "You hungry?"

"I'm fine." She returned to the bed.

Michael crawled over to her side, and ran the tip of his finger over Maeby's arm, then his hand, travelling up towards her shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." She dug her toes into the carpet, perched on her side of the bed.

_Michael hadn't made love to Maeby in four weeks, and it was killing him, but he knew if he didn't broach the subject carefully, it would be no afternoon delight, and another four weeks._

He took both of her arms in his hands, kissing her neck. She moaned. He peeked down the neck of the t-shirt, and felt himself struggling to contain his passion. "Maeby…you're incredible…." He hands slipped around to her front, groping.

Maeby bemoaned, "I'm getting all fat."

"No…no…you're so sexy. I'll show you." He climbed off the bed, pulled the t-shirt over her head, and started running a line of kisses from her neck, down over her torso, stopping to suck and nibble.

"Oh, Michael…"

"Oh, beautiful…."

_Michael caressed the soft, supple skin, fingers groping while he sucked, feeling the effervescent energy making him desire her more and more. Maeby, for her part, forgot how ugly she felt, and lost herself in the pleasure she was receiving._

Michael's hand travelled down to her bump, and he couldn't help himself kissing her lips as he stroked her stomach. "Beautiful…sexy….gorgeous…" he said between kisses, as his hand lead down between her thighs to stroke, causing her to shiver into his mouth, and him to moan with delight. He pulled off the impediment and went down to where his fingers were, his tongue circling, then flicking, him enjoying the expressions Maeby was making as she cooed. He finally slipped inside, causing her to shiver, her back to arch.

"Michael…Oh…Oh…" her fingers dug into the comforter.

As she continued to shake, Michael picked up his pace, and she heaved and kept calling out his name. He counted the number of times, 6, 7, 8, 9…When she peaked, she relaxed back into the covers, Michael crawling up over her.

"And you're trying to tell me that's not sexy?"

Maeby looked away.

"Come on. Say it."

"You're only saying that because you're about to f[beep] me."

_She had him there._

"Okay." He responded, and crawled back down to the carpet, head between her thighs. He placed gentle kisses around her inner thighs, fingers making feather touches over the top, continuing until he heard her groan. He then moved his tongue to begin circling again.

"Michael…oh…oh Michael," as she started to pant.

He ran his tongue in to explore further, fingers stroking with feather touches as she became more and more sensitive. He enjoyed hearing her make noises deeper and more desperate than he'd ever heard before, her body almost convulsing, her bulges shaking. He patted the side table, retrieving something, and made light work of where his fingers were.

Maeby's entire body felt gripped with the surges, a sense of a complete loss of control from the wave after wave of pleasure being drawn from within, at the mercy of the man whose name she was shouting. "Michael, oh s[beep]…"

As she felt herself drawing to the end, she felt a deep outer-sensory surge crash through her, and kept panting beyond the final rush, exhausted.

"How are we feeling? Sexy now?"

"Ah…" Maeby panted, wearied.

"You were shouting so that half the bay could hear it while I had my tongue inside you. Trust me, that's sexy."

"Uh-huh." Maeby kept gasping for air.

"Do you still not want me to make love to you?" He leaned into her.

"No…do it….please." She leaned up slightly, then sunk back, exhausted.

He smiled, slipped his layers off, and leaned in, kissing her softly. He lifted her up, carried her and pressed her against the wall next to the bed. His eyes lit up seeing the sunlight from the blinds hit her curves, her face twisted in expressions of pleasure, her dark brown eyes, and her soft wavy hair, as she moaned while he entered her. He kissed her deeply, and longingly, sucking her kiss. Her legs knotted around him, and breaking off the kiss, she kept bellowing as he pressed her harder against the wall. She withered, him listening to her heartbeat, as he kissed her neck.

"Michael…ah ah…" as he kept up his rhythm, her head spinning.

"Oh, I love you…" Michael murmured.

As she cried out and gasped, she replied, "I love you too," which was enough to push him over the edge, a sweet but powerful release, and he buried his perspiring brow in her shoulder. She flopped, panting. When he lifted his head, she searched his deep blue eyes.

"Beautiful."

"My Michael."

He curved his arm around her back, and carried her to the bed, laying her down, and slipped in beside her. She wrapped an arm around him, making gentle noises while she drifted off to sleep.

_And as the sleeping Maeby snuggled into his chest, her abdomen pressed against him, he was resolute; he would never, ever, allow himself to lose her again._

Michael slipped into sleep, awaking several hours later, darkness creeping through the curtains. He smiled, still being clutched by his love, who loved him, and was the mother of their child. He watched her sleep with a peaceful smile on her face. The cold may have broken her rest, as she inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering and gazing up at him while she yawned. "What time is it?"

"Eight, I think."

"Wow, we slept a long time, how long have you been up?"

"I dunno."

"You should have woken me up."

"No, no, no." He shook his head, beaming.

She crawled up, kissing him softly.

He pulled her in close, kissing her again, trying to cling to her lips, a long, drawn out kiss.

_And after they'd showered,_

Michael pressed himself to Maeby against the pink tiled wall, her fingers digging into to his muscular back with every movement, moaning deeply into each others' mouths as they re-acquainted their bodies, the steamy haze warming their already hot breath, water torrenting away as they remained entranced.

_They called for an instantly regrettable room service._

Michael and Maeby sat at the small table near the old TV, with John Beard grinning, "The probe into politicians' perks continued today in Washington, with allegations some congressman have been washing their receipts."

The shot moved to a grinning Lindsay, who was breaking a bottle of Champaign on a ship, as a minder lost their grip on a bag, raining small pieces of paper into the bay.

"This can't be steak." Michael complained, poking the rubbery meat. "It may have been once between being on the truck, and before it entered the kitchen, but now, you know, I could load it into the back of the car and keep it as a spare. Or Mom's car, and she wouldn't even notice."

"As long as it's joined by this seagull vomit." Maeby poked hers, "I read it says 'white sauce,' but all I see is white paint with bits of chicken and leftover vegetables scattered through."

"At least we know the food can't get any worse. Unless…"

"I am not trying the beancurd icecream." Maeby insisted.

"Okay, okay. You know, I had considered flying to Phoenix, we could have not been fed by the airline, and then been back with food civilisation by now."

"No, um." She lowered her voice.

"Yeah. Some us time."

"Well, some, non-them time."

"Parenting adults is tough. Especially when they want you to settle their arguments…" He noticed she'd started staring into space. "What are you thinking?"

"Michael, I know you're going to be a fantastic dad. I just don't know about me mothering. I'm not really the cuddly-mother type, I'm the cigar-in-the-hottub-in-the-jet type."

"And the cocktail."

"Of course."

"Well, there's no manual on parenting. If you think I'm a good dad, look where I came from."

_But George Senior and Lucile did make a manual, it just happened to be one which advocated more of a cock-fighting than cuddling style of parenting._

In the backyard of their old home, the camera had remained pointed on a young Michael and GOB.

Off camera, George Senior had goaded, "He's calling you a liar."

"I don't want your cards, Michael!" GOB had sneered.

"He's lying!" George Senior had shouted at Michael.

Michael flung himself at GOB, who'd pushed him back, as the tussle ensured, the camera rolling.

"Let's keep it in frame." George had instructed.

_And the equipment with which to parent._

The kitchen table was covered in boxes, as a young George Senior had mused in the kitchen over the metal fryer, Lucille inspecting the goods.

She had flicked the box lid in disgust. "So we're stuck with 5,000 of these worthless corn-ballers?" And marched into the kitchen, picking up her cup of tea.

_Somehow a product that permanently scarred its users was not regarded as valuable._

"Whoa, whoa. They're not worthless. You know? The timer still works. There's no numbers on it, but it's very loud." George Senior reasoned, as he had gazed at the device.

Lucille had brightened. "Perfect for those who like the sound of a clock, but don't know their numbers."

"That's good, we'll sell this to baby…" and a misaimed hand gesture had grazed the device. "owww, mother of [beep]…"

_And teaching your kids values slash lessons using a one armed man._

Near the swimming pool of their own home, with a prosthetic arm floating next to a face down realistic mannequin in the water behind them, Jay Walter Wetheral had held out a handful of condoms to the group of terrified Bluth teenagers. "And that's why you always use protection."

"How did you come to think 'family first', then?" she cleared the table.

Michael mused her question.

_There was in fact, a truthful answer to this question. Here's a hint: before Michael moved back with the family, he'd been at Tracey's bedside until she'd died. Because Michael believed, or some part of him, that Rome wasn't Built in A Day. Oh gosh, now he's even got us saying it. He might as well have been Houdini – or allowing GOB to perform at any ceremony- with all the risks he'd been taking;_

"I thought it was time to move on."

_Sans the poker face._

"Yeah, I'm sure that's the answer." Maeby climbed into bed.

"W-what?"

_Unfortunately for the happy couple, while they were avoiding work, work could not avoid them._

Face to pillow, Michael patted his side table for the ringing phone. "Hello?" he muttered, failing to check who was calling.

"Sir, it's Derek from accounting, just wondering if you'd had a moment with the CFO to clear some funds for wages this week?"

"Can't we keep drawing from that account we worked out?"

_He meant the funds set aside for materials to construct actual product._

"Well, ah, ethically, and maybe legally too, I haven't looked, yet, I can't just keep misappropriating from incorrect accounts you sent to me, I'm gonna have to go and…"

"Wait, wait, look I think I've found the CFO here, at this housing conference." He nudged the CFO with his palm. "She's just concluding an important conversation here…."

Maeby moaned into the pillow, her hair mimicking a birds' nest.

"She says she'll be right with you." He kept nudging her, as she kept groaning, then ejected herself from bed and towards the ensuite. "No, she's been pulled away. Two minutes. Just, needing to clear a few things up." He heard her lose last night's dinner. "Sounding pretty good."

She returned to him holding out the phone, and pulled faces indicating he should deal with it. But she relented. "Hi, Derek. Oh absolutely, just do the transfers. No, I've been at a housing conference. Yes, I was a bit sick here. Yes, that's what the CEO meant, sick of housing conferences." She laid on a fake laugh. "Okay, yep. Bye." She then turned to the owner of the phone. "Why did you tell them I was here?"

"They were saying using the building accounts for wages was unethical…"

"So why didn't you just tell them I was there?"

"There?"

"There meaning, here? Like here, with you, when you were there?"

Michael continued to struggle with her question.

"Why invoke the absconsion clause?" Maeby clarified.

"Well, Bob knew, and…"

She shrugged. "And? Lawyer-client confidentiality? What's he gonna do, risk his job because you lie to a couple of idiots?"

"I didn't want to give Dad or Mom or your Mom any leeway to reclaim the company. Besides, you did logon to the system from Phoenix, so, it's on the company records you weren't there. Or here."

"So that's how you found me."

_George Michael did._

In the less than salubrious bar, GOB had sat poured over the piece of paper he'd scribbled on, with a poured drink beside him.

"Are you sure I won't know him?" George Michael had questioned over the line.

"Yeah, he's like top secret, a real man of mystery, wooo-ooo-ooo…I gotta go!" GOB had hung up on George Michael.

"Sort of. Did you miss it?"

"I did, I guess. I got so used to doing it, without half of the highlands excavating the remnants of the sites, it was good to build something."

"They're gone. For good."

"Any other good news?"

"They're building a childcare centre in the lower levels of the building."

"That's convenient."

_The only people who'd have to worry about a childcare centre being built close to them would be registered sex offenders._

"All sorts of things are on the up and up."

Maeby's lips curled slightly. "So, Mr CEO, what are we doing today?"

_So they went for a drive, down the windy inlands off the California coast, and came across a most interesting development._

"There's still huge stretches of land out here." Michael remarked.

_Nothing. Except for a trailer._

"Not that far from the coast either."

_A lazy twenty minutes. Drive. Through the mountains._

He pulled over, stopping near the trailer in the red dirt. A scruffy middle aged man emerged from a run-down decades old trailer. "You're on my property!" He burst, wedging bullets into the broken barrels of the shotgun.

"We didn't mean to intrude, you've got a fantastic big block here, where does it end?"

"Uh, out that way a mile, out that way a mile." He pointed vaguely. "Hey, aren't you those guys offa TV?" The farmer tilted his hat.

"Yeah, I'm…"

"Bluth and his niece."

_They were no longer as anonymous as they would have liked._

John Beard had thrown his trademark grin on the news. "Where, where, where, where's Maeby? That's the question on everyone's lips, as the Bluths blow their British red noses."

_It was a question Michael had managed to dodge. _

"So you're big city developers, hey." The man thought aloud.

"Well, not to jump the gun a bit…"

The guy slung the broken barrels of the gun over his arm. "No, no, I don't get celebrity developers down here often, come on in." He held his hand out. "I'm Bud Cretin."

"Buff?" Michael tried to pronounce.

"Bud."

"Baaaaa…"

_This unfunny misunderstanding went on a while. Here's where it finished._

Both were toured into the long, thin space, stacked high with brick-a-brack but mostly junk, as he gestured to the table. "Don't mind the stuff." He hauled the large boxes from the piles of stuff on the table to another pile of stuff on his bed. "Ah, that's where my pickles went." Bud admired the jar.

"Excuse me." Maeby dashed out.

"So sorry, she's got food poisoning." He shook his head. "From the housing conference."

"Looking mighty fine for food poisoning." The ratbag raised his eyebrow. "Glowing in fact. My dearly departed Darlene was always set off by pickles in her Spring seasons. Something's going on, isn't it? A dear little something? Come on, you can tell me."

"Just food poisoning." He grimaced. "But tell me more about you. And this land?"

"Sure, make sure one of us ain't fibbin here."

Maeby rejoined them, slipping in beside Michael on the bench.

"So what can the I do ya for?"

"We're interested in your land." Michael stated.

"Naw, I could never part with this'er land. It's my last link to Darline." He pointed to a photo on the wall of her on the beach.

"Beautiful seascape there." Maeby peered at him.

"Yes, she loved it out, was a regular fish outta water." Bud mulled. "How about us three do dinner."

_And while their motel served food that was inedible, at least the food had been distinguishable._

Michael and Maeby poked at their plates of lumpy goo.

"There's good o'possum right there. And a smack of emu if you're lucky."

"You know, I was thinking it could do with some good grizzle." Maeby mocked, while Michael made faces at her to stop.

"You know, I think you're right." Bud returned, with a handful of something, dropping it into Maeby's food. "Ground grizzly, at your service."

Michael could barely contain laughing. "She's a huge fan of it, don't go easy on it."

Maeby's hand slipped onto his thigh, her longer-than-usual manicured nails digging into his thigh.

_Maeby's manicured nails made their point on Michael's thigh, and made Michael became aware of just how close they were geographically to neighbouring regions._

"Oh is that right?" he tipped more of the sandy powder into Maeby's muck.

Michael could feel her eyes burning into the side of his head, while he desperately pursed his lips.

Maeby tried to flick off the powder without drawing attention to her behaviour. "Was Darline ever recognised for her swimming?"

"Aw heck yes, she got into the state championship she did. Won herself medals and the like. She loved the sea. The 'loose seal' they called her."

"Quite an accolade." Michael remarked.

"Loose seal was her middle name." He winked.

_Maritime pursuits had always been a fascinating pastime for the Bluths._

In the classy 80s conference room, a young Barry Zuckercorn waved his arms about in front of the young Lucille and George Senior. "Take to the sea! Three miles out, and it's a free-for-all! No rules, pirate radio laws."

_As they'd always believed the afforded top-quality legal reality avoison. Among other reality avoisions._

"Yeah, I remember her. 1991 was it?"

"Yessir, the gold of 1991."

Michael turned to Maeby. "You remember that…" He trailed off.

Maeby cleared her throat. "What about you, though? Do you find yourself thinking of her much?"

"Now you mention it, I do love going down there, seeing the waves, reminds me of her."

"You know, if you do sell, you could buy something closer to the coast."

"And do what precisely?"

Maeby swiped her phone. "Build a home. Settle into retirement. I'm sure you've earned it."

_From the two years of beet farming he'd done, the money from the government to keep the land farming, had kept him on the land for twenty years._

The straight-laced silver haired government man in the dour grey suit pointed out into middle distance. "Sir, we need you to stop producing beets."

"Why would I do that?" Bud raised his hands.

"This crop is creating an oversupply in the market." The man pointed to the small patch of beets surrounded by turned earth.

"And what you gonna do about it?" Bud's voice tensed.

The man opened his suitcase, showing it to Bud, who gasped, reaching in.

"Wow suree." Bud read the single piece of paper.

_A lifetime assurity he would be granted twice as much to not farm, than the market rate of the Beets. But if Bud had read the fineprint, he'd know it was only for the lifetime of the government, which expired sometime after _Opposites Attract_ did. But due to good fortune, and more luck in Bud's case, the government was about to expire his agreement. _

The weathered hick pondered her proposal. "You know, this 'ur land's not done much in a while and it's doggone useless for most crops. You Bluths and your love of grizzly have me sold."

"Can't ever go past a good grizzle." Michael glanced at Maeby.

_And with that, the Bluths had a new block to fill. As they returned to the car, Michael quietly savoured, for another reason, having his partner back._

"We're gonna need another thirty-odd to get this ship sailing. I'll call Nevada Monday."

_Her many hidden talents._

"How…did you do that?" Michael turned on the engine.

"I knew his wife had passed away and living on a big piece of nothing wasn't doing him any favours."

_Big piece of nothing that could be turned into several million._

"But about his wife?"

"Oh, well I saw the photo when we came in, then snuck around to a shed near the cabin."

_And the cabin had put on a show, after she'd poked around enough to find what she needed._

In the cobwebby dirty hovel, Maeby had pawed over the piles of loose junk, finding a shiny gold-coloured medal.

Back in the car, Michael smiled. "Well, I'm a very lucky man. And CEO. That reminds me, did you know there's a new Balboa Bay Elementary school going up? Should be about three blocks from work."

"That's convenient."

_The only people who'd have to worry about an elementary schools being built close to them would be registered sex offenders._

Michael rounded the corner heading back towards the seascape. "By the way, you know the song 'Opposites Attract'?"

"Yeah, that one in _Family Guy_ where Peter is dressed like a cat?"

"The one with Paula Abdul."

"That one from _American Idol_?"

"Ah, don't worry."

Maeby's phone started to ring, and Michael noticed from the corner of his eye that she was freezing up, as she stared at her phone. Peeking over, he saw Kitty's name. "I'll fix that." He hit reject.

"Wait…Michael…"

And the phone run again. Kitty. Which, as with the phone on his lap, Michael rejected again. And again, it rung.

"Maybe I should…"

Michael again hit reject. "This woman….so clingy…no wonder Dad rejected her." And it run yet again from the Bluth Company.

Maeby removed it from his hand, and answered. "Hello. Oh." She covered the microphone. "It's the office saying Kitty is wanting to be put though."

_And Michael sort to be the man of the situation, forgetting anything out of the ordinary of him taking a phone off a fellow employee and instructing in that way._

Michael responded, "Don't put her call through. Okay, thanks."

"You don't think she's just gonna stop?"

"Not if she keeps getting no-where."

_Michael had forgotten a lot about Kitty Sanchez._

Michael and Kitty had sat opposite the upmarket restaurant, with high flying stars including John Beard seated nearby.

Her voice had tensed. **"**Are you threatening me?"

"Yeah, that's a threat. I'm threatening you!"

Kitty had stood up, her voice booming. "Did you hear that everyone? Michael Bluth is threatening me!" and went to lift up her shirt. "Say good-bye to your company, Michael. And say good-bye..."

Michael had hid his eyes behind his hands. "No, no, no, no."

She'd held up the top for the continued full frontal view. "...to these 'cause it's the last time!"

_Back at their forgettable motel, Maeby went for another wander._

"I'm going for a walk. You can come this time." She leaned around the door jam.

Michael's eyes caught on the TV, "Sorry, I better catch this."

The reporter stood in front of government buildings. "…and despite some probing questions, local authorities aren't worried about the inquiry."

The dry, grey man ambled in the suit. "There is nothing to suggest it will touch anything in the purview, ambit or delineage of members within the area of the State of California."

Michael settled on the sheets, against the bed headboard, when his phone rang. "Hey, Toby, how are you?"

"I am alright sir, your CFO called me and I couldn't get back to her phone, and the office said you were in a housing conference in Nevada?"

"Oh, yes…"

"I said there couldn't possibly be one in Nevada."

"Oh no, no, they meant Neo-vida, it's south of Seattle. You can still see the needle from it, very spectacular."

"I'm sure they did, I get patches sewn from conference that goes on this side of the south west. Dang iPad, keeps dinging at me."

"Oh I hear you there, I've had nothing but trouble with them.

_Michael had failed to break into one, and had unilaterally decided to ban them from the office._

Michael had leaned over the cubical wall, peering at the man deep in concentration. "Bill, can we remove iPads from the requisition list?"

The pencil thin man with hard features considered Michael's question, "Sir, I didn't know we could have one."

"Oh, well the other type are okay."

Four other employees had stopped near the cubicle and leaned over too. "We can have tablets?" The balding male asked.

"Well, I guess…ah paracetamol. But not that Advil. Oh no, that's top shelf stuff there!"

_Michael was a little desperate to not spend money. Given the company didn't have any._

"No, it's….a personal matter. Getting hammered with emails, can't a man think in peace?"

"Family can be a bit much." Michael eyed his sister filling the TV screen with broad, insincere hand gestures, her father and mother standing behind her with GOB in the corner, suspiciously taller than both of them.

"I do not know what to do with daughters. Tell me, do you have any?"

_Michael didn't know the answer to that question._

"Ah, no. Not that I know of."

"I can't make decisions for them. Heck, I can't seem to guide them away from a stupid one."

"Anything I can help with?"

"No, no. It's just gonna affect her whole life now. I mean, she's doing the right thing and marrying the guy I guess, I just think he's no good is all. She's beautiful, intelligent, and works hard, got so much going for her."

Michael watched his sister with her hands on her hips, wigging her finger at something in the crowd. "Sometimes to make things right, you've gotta make the hard decisions."

"Yes, I think you're right. I'll tell her I'm okay with it. Now, were you coming at me for money?"

_And soon enough the money woman had returned._

"So I went to the local government office, they wanted me to do some paperwork before they'd go into details about the requirements to build on that land, and we still don't know the zoning, and they said something about a 'beautiful vista buff'…" She stopped dead, as he stared at her. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Sometimes the most beautiful view is right in front of you." He smiled.

Maeby couldn't help smiling back. "I've never had a man get so poetic about me before."

_That she remembered. George Michael had told her how he felt at a previous spring break._

Inside the bar at spring break, the fifteen year old George Michael had poured his heart out to her. "…you're like this flower. And I know it's springtime, but I hate to see you get plucked by someone who doesn't even care that you're blossoming."

"Maybe it comes with age." Michael shrugged.

_Maeby was fifteen at the time, as was George Michael._

"Well, I called the station about the infomercial, booked us in for next week."

Michael rubbed his hands together. "Sounds great, another few days away."

_The balmy evening descended upon them, and drifted them both into a gentle slumber, the gentle wash of the sea creating a calming drone in the background wafting into the room through window as it was slightly ajar, a round moon in the clear California sky casting a gentle halo in all directions, a gentle breeze…_

Maeby bolted up in her bed. "I'm a registered sex offender!"

_That's right. Maeby was, and is. _

"I'm a sex offender! I'm a sex offender!"

_On the next episode of Bluthton, Michael gets a call from his made-up location and is asked to join them._

As the car speeds along the Californian coast, Michael puts the phone onto speaker. "Michael! I stepped out for the weekend and had a relax as per your advice and am here with Toby, where are you in Neo-vida, where are you?"

"I've just stepped away! Just terrible, I almost caught you there."

"You got the commemorative patch?"

"Oh of course I did, I've got it right here!"

"Great, show me when I bring over the cheque."

_Someone was gonna have to stich that one up._


	9. The Pardoned Prodigal

_It had been a tumultuous time for the executives of the Bluth Company. Between Maeby's sojourn over the great holes, _

Maeby peered out of the helicopter over the grand canyon. "It's not that big."

_And Michael's successful efforts towards paving over them,_

Michael watched the lorries depart the dusty, muddy track, heading back towards the hills.

_They had been away from all their troubles, indeed, investing to create new holes._

In the small, dated trailer, Michael and Maeby faced Bud. The weathered hick pondered Maeby's proposal. "You know, this 'ur land's not done much in a while and it's doggone useless for most crops. You Bluths and your love of grizzly have me sold."

_But there remained one big plothole to this saga._

_Maeby bolted up in her bed. "I'm a registered sex offender!"_

_Because Maeby was, and is one._

In the motel room they were sharing on the southern Californian coast, Maeby sat up nail straight in bed. "I'm a sex offender! I'm a sex offender!"

Michael rolled over from being awoken abruptly, gently attempting to auger himself with the situation, murmuring, until heard her hyperventilate.

"I'm having a baby, what am I going to do?!"

He pulled himself up, pulling her in. "Hey, hey, it'll be okay…we'll sort this out."

"I've been living with you for months, they'll throw me in jail for not reporting…"

_They could._

He pressed her into him, nuzzling her into his neck, "Come on, shhh, we can fix this."

_So they sought the law,_

Bob Loblaw sat straight as a nail in the conference room. "The offence you were charged under doesn't carry penalties of registration as a sex offender. Did you show up to any of your hearings?"

_And the law won._

"No." Maeby admitted, defeated.

"Justice is blind, Mr Bluth and…" He looked Maeby up and down, "CFO." And added, "I'll investigate and get back to you."

_The news was not good._

Back in the conference room, Bob Loblaw continued. "In your absence, you were sentenced to being put on the sex offenders register."

"Can't we appeal that? Isn't that illegal?" Michael queried.

"You could. But being removed from the sex offenders register is very unlikely. Who was giving you legal advice?"

_It's a very good question that we'd like to know too._

"I mussn't have had any. So they won't remove me, even when they've broken the law?" Maeby asked.

"It's an expensive risk, and not one I'd advise you in your position to take."

Michael evaluated the window.

_So they got someone who would advise them to take an expensive risk._

Barry Zuckercorn walked into the conference room. "So glad to see ya again, be in this conference room. Work had kinda dried up." He pawed through the bowl on the table, "these Skittles? A very nice touch, never got these from my previous client. Are there red ones still in here?"

"Weren't we your only client?"

He popped a few in his mouth. "Well, ah, that didn't help. Can be hard being a legal leper." He turned to Maeby. "So you want to get off the sex offenders register?

"That's why you've been hired?"

"Okay. Well, at your insistence," He pointed playfully at Michael, "I read up, and, we get the Governor to fix it."

"He's not a Judge." Michael queried.

"No. But he can pardon you though. Hand them out like candy to a baby." Barry took another half handful, until his phone rang. "Excuse me, I think it's important." He answered it, walking out the door. "What do you mean the pump classes aren't included…"

Michael closed the door behind Barry. "Have we exceeded our campaign contributions?"

"Well and truly. It's gone to Mom."

"Wait, what did Lindsay say in her office…"

Maeby narrowed her eyes, "you were in Mom's office?"

In her office, Lindsay had sat astride Michael, in black lace lingerie with matching suspenders and black pantyhose with stilettos, nose to nose. "You worry about the future of the Bluth company, if you don't take this deal."

Michael moved on quickly, and away from the wall. "Yeah, I caught her sabotaging GOB's Act. She might have sent Bygone Burials to us too."

_And given Michael a different type of lap dance. _

"Michael, I'm sick of this. We know she did it. She's been screwing us for thousands. And you know, if you don't make your own sandwiches, someone else will make them for you."

Michael raised a brow. "Isn't a sandwich someone else has made a good sandwich?"

"Not a s[beep] sandwich."

Michael cringed.

"She owes us. She owes me. She's gonna make that pardon happen. I guarantee she will."

_And there another wronged woman making a B-line through Michael Bluth._

Michael stood near Maeby's office, when he spotted a leopard who never changes its spots.

"Kitty." He wedged himself between her and Maeby's closed door. "How interesting to see you here."

"Well hello, Michael. Or should I say, pervert?"

"Why would you say that?"

"You were always interested in just one thing. Even the media knows it now." She tut-tutted him. "Pied piper."

"What do you want, Kitty?

"But I'm not here for that. I'm here to see Maeby."

"No, you are not." He lowered his tone. "If you want anything, speak to me."

"Is that a threat?"

"Yes, it's a threat."

"Hey everyone, Michael Bluth is threatening me!" Kitty wailed.

The office remained unmoved.

Michael exhaled, "Everyone here knows you. That's not gonna work."

Kitty glared at Michael. "I know you're only after one thing. It's what all men are after." She reached for the bottom of her turtleneck.

"No, no, no…" Michael hid behind his arms.

And they stayed down. "But you're a dirty pied piper pervert and who knows what's going through your brain. You may have won this round. Mister Bluth." And she stormed away.

Michael leaned over the reception desk. "Put a block on Kitty getting through to Maeby's phone, and get me security." Then grabbed the desk phone. "Do not let Kitty Sanchez in this afternoon."

_So Michael sought to kill two birds with one stone._

Michael entered the penthouse, spotting his father. "Dad, how are you?"

"Oh, it's the prodigal son." George Senior scanned the Holy Book of his faith, wearing the head tefillin among the other garb from his evangelical days.

"I'm not here for money."

"Yeah, the opposite Prodigal son...Can daddy have some money?"

"What for?"

"I think I've been touched, Michael."

Michael narrowed his eyes. "By what?"

"In prison. You know, divine intervention."

"You are here eighteen hours a day now."

"Well, being cooped up here with no money can send a man crazy."

"You have mom?"

George Senior glanced awkwardly out the window and leaned forward. "There's only so much men and women can do together, Michael."

"Yes, you've always said wonderful things."

_He'd had more than enough in his lifetime._

George Senior had pleaded from the attic of the model home. "Daddy horny, Michael. I haven't had sex in a month."

Michael had responded, "You know, you've been here two months."

Present-day Michael queried, "What is it you're trying to do?"

"Spread the word, my son." George Senior laid his hand upon Michael. "For the saving of many, the only money expended would be one million, no more than one and a half."

"Well, that's gonna take me time and effort to organise, and I don't know dad, I'm in the middle of moving, I have your Kitty breathing down my neck…"

George Senior signalled for Michael to cut it. "She's not mine."

"She sure is something. Perhaps you can help, I need my sister to get the Governor to move on pardoning Maeby."

"For what?"

"She's on the sex offenders register."

"Underage, huh? Looks like she's not made that mistake again."

"She was put there illegally, but, It's an election year, and…"

"Yeah, yeah. Your sister won't shut up about it…And what about Kitty?"

"You could make her leave the Bluth Company and Maeby alone."

"I always paid her to go away."

"That's exactly what I'm trying to not do."

"Oh, I see why you need me." He winked.

Michael winked back.

_There was a lot of seeing and not seeing going on._

GOB strut in with a coat of many colours. "Michael, Michael. There you are. I've been sitting on the couch all day drinking Tony Wonder's Slim Magic, which by the way, I got for a steal because you destroyed him for me." GOB winked.

Michael grimaced.

GOB continued, "And I mean, daytime re-runs of Rick Hashton do not watch themselves…"

"Have you cooked since I left?"

"No, Michael, I'm on Slim Magic." GOB insisted.

"You girl."

"Dad, it's 90% protein, it's not really slimming." GOB posed, flexing his arm muscles.

"You call that a muscle? I've got more and I'm not on that girly drink." George Senior started flexing his biceps, poking them.

Buster joined into the circle, rolling up his shirt sleves. "Ha! I'm the army man, look at my biceps!"

_This display continued for several minutes of grunting and flexing, until Michael signalled it was losing its prime._

"GOB, I hate to move you along with your busy schedule, but you were saying?"

GOB straightened, "Ah yes, I was thinking, where are the shoes?"

"They're coming."

"That's what you said on the phone yesterday, Mikey."

"Wait, why were you taller than mom and dad on TV?"

"Oh, that." GOB laughed to himself, "I'm wearing platforms now, to get everyone used to how elongated they think I should be. Then…poof! I'm not."

Michael nodded slowly. "So logical. And why are your tricks here too?"

"I needed somewhere to practice since, well, the firewarden has it out for me at your apartment."

_Unsurprisingly, the fire warden did not want the Magnificent GOB practicing any further routines in the apartment building._

Michael had walked into his living room, finding the TV pushed back, the coffee table upended against the wall, and the middle of the floor four pylons almost reaching the roof spouting flames.

GOB had thrown his arms in the air. "With the power of Hephaestus, I command you!" He insisted, a puff of smoke, and a scrawny, weathered blond woman appeared on the opposite side of the trick. "Aw, come on!"

Water had gushed from the roof, the mighty flames of Hephaestus were extinguished.

_And neither did the Bluths' Bluthton site manager, but that was just because GOB was a [beep] to him._

"Why does he get shoes?" George Senior pleaded.

"Because I helped Mickey with his little…"

Michael struck his arms out, both fingers making the hush sound. "I'll have it to you this afternoon, if you don't say another word."

George Senior looked to make a sound. Until he did. "Is that why you've had trouble, I mean, what, there's only been the mentally slow one, your niece and…"

Buster snorted, "Michael's got a wee problem…"

Michael got defensive. "This is not a conversation I'm going to have, here, or now. Or tomorrow. Especially in front of my mother."

Lucille wandered in with a drink in her hand. "Oh don't mind me, I only watched your nanny change you for two and a half years."

"Okay! You both have your assignments." He indicated to GOB and George Senior.

Both men went to make sound, with Michael making insistent noises.

_Michael's seemingly subpar parenting skills continued to come in handy with his relatives._

"Good. GOB, I'll be visiting home tomorrow so clean up a bit?"

"What, you think I have time between Rick Hashton and Bygone Burials to do that? Come on!" GOB laughed.

_GOB wasn't kidding. Later, Michael let himself into what was his apartment, finding the contents of all the cupboards strewn over the floor, amongst magic and clothing._

"You guys have really made yourselves at home."

_Which is why Michael and Maeby were making themselves out of home, at the hotel he had tried to engage in a night of passion with Rita in._

Michael had crawled up next to Maeby on the bed, who was deep in a large document. "Hey, do you still have that tiny teddy?"

_It was that one that Michael had knocked her up in. Maeby had considered burning it._

"It's back at the apartment. But I wouldn't count on finding it."

_An accurate prediction given GOB being too busy to maintain basic cleanliness. _

"It's a busy life being famous, having a job." GOB followed Michael into his bedroom.

"You still have that job?"

"No, I was too busy, had to quit." GOB checked his phone.

Michael pulled off his shirt, red marks in a uniform round pattern near his shoulders.

"Michael, Michael, Michael, some woman has been having a pretty good time with you." GOB admired the marks.

"You've been having a good time with the apartment, did you even clean once?"

"Did she dig in each time you made your entrance?"

"Ah, well…" Michael emptied drawers into a suitcase.

_Michael was torn between bragging to a man who wasn't getting any, and talking about his sex life with Maeby to Maeby's non-maternal uncle._

"It was a…good trip." Michael added, continuing to fill.

"What was she? Blonde? Sexy brunette?"

"GOB, you know what she looks like?"

"Oh, so I know her?" GOB winked. "You dirty dog, she's a friend of the family? You finally nailed Sitwell! Wow, someone's gone up in the world!"

Michael winced. "Not quite."

Maeby walked into the bedroom, hair hanging effortlessly over her bare shoulders in the low-cut spaghetti strap sarong hanging over her newly-forming shape, filing her longer-than-usual nails. "Oh hey, GOB."

"Brunette." Michael winked at him.

GOB's eyes flashed with jealously, then disgust, and made a b-line towards the ensuite.

"I think our work here is done." Michael turned to Maeby. "Could do me a favour…?" He took the file from her. "Don't file those down too much."

_But their trip out wasn't just to visit the newly commissioned Bluth Waste Holding Yard. They took themselves touring homes with relentless real estate agents. _

The couple and their scrawny, middle aged brunette agent with bright red lipstick emerged from her car. As they sauntered towards the front door of the estate, she turned to Maeby. "And how is finance for you?"

"Well, I'm with the Greek Bank, I'm sure they have a loan facility."

The woman blinked, and turned to Michael. "And how is finance for you?"

_Through large homes,_

The pair entered the large, dark, cavernous space, complete with an unrenovated 1970s kitchen.

"It's a dream come true for any cook. Just feel the positive energy, huh?"

"I feel like there's more of it to come." Maeby muttered to Michael.

And outside, they were met with wood-panelled 70s-style stableyards.

"And enough to stable three horses!"

"Isn't this a little far from Balboa Bay?"

"Only forty minutes. Off peak."

"This is just delightful, it can't have been on the market long." Michael sniffed the air.

The agent shifted cagily.

_The musky air sorta gave it away. With distance being a problem, they were toured on smaller homes._

Maeby's eyes ran over the small livingroom, unimpressed, the other finding her bulging middle. "This is a one bedroom apartment."

"You could treat it as a studio – have the living room a bedroom!"

"I don't know why I didn't think of that." Maeby sent Michael a bemused look.

_And those generally inappropriate,_

The woman threw open her arms into the large space, with a finely constructed staircase, and a indigo colour on the walls. "This expansive house was crafted by the most well-regarded home builders in this area."

Michael eyed the fine detailing around the lobby doors, running his fingers on the fine painted panels.

"Isn't this constructed by Sitwell Enterprises?" Maeby queried.

"Oh, well you won't like the next one then." The woman crossed it off her list.

"They do nice stairs though." Michael stroked the banister, running his finger along the neat woodgrain of the carved timber. "But no, no, we can't take this."

_They found something. _

The elegant, slightly beachy, perfectly cream building rolled from lobby, to sitting room, to Kitchen, a smile spreading over Maeby's face.

"And it's appointed by seventy halogen lights! Well how about that?"

"Michael, look at this!" Maeby exclaimed, walking through the rustic white kitchen. Back in the main hall, they then ascended the staircase.

"And this master bedroom has its own ensuite and balcony."

Maeby opened the French doors, stepping out.

"Wow." Michael commented, seeing the bay.

_Michael hadn't only seen the bay, he'd also seen the dollar signs in his head. Then he saw his partner, and that the house had been the single thing that had cheered her the most since he'd asked her to come back. For Maeby, she felt, despite the beach being off into the distance, she finally had a slice of serenity. _

"Sweetie, I'm guessing this is a yes?"

Maeby flashed him an enormous smile and threw her arms around him in the doorway. Michael stuck a thumbs up to the estate agent, and signalled a scribble in the air. And then embraced her back.

_Michael knew the agent would accept a cheque from a bank of a nation of $18 trillion in debt, rather than one of $380 billion in debt. But there would be another debtor less keen to comply with their obligations._

George Senior hunched over the metal table in his preacher garb, with a Sundae of three scoops of icecream sitting before him.

"Hi, Dad." Michael approached the chair in the middle of the mall.

"You gonna get a sundae too?" George Senior indicated.

"Well, I…"

"Aw come on, I'll feel a little silly eating one by myself."

_And that's how Michael wound up going for icecream with his father._

Michael dug through the whipped cream and nuts of his soft serve.

"Feels good to be eating the competitor."

"I'd thought you'd kept the stand shut."

"There's not a lot of money in the banana stand, unless you're volunteering?"

George Senior laughed to himself. "There's always money in the Banana stand?"

"I barely made a cent outta that thing."

"That's because you aren't doing it right."

_Michael had long missed the positive reinforcement of his father._

"Well, since I'm so bad at making money, did you ask Lindsay?"

"Yes. She can't, Michael."

"For what reason?!" Michael demanded.

"There's an election coming up, she's got a community forum next week, her car's in for a service…"

"Dad. She owes me."

George Senior looked both ways, and leaned over "She's got no money." He muttered. "She's doing massive fundraising next week…"

"What do those two events have to do with each other?"

George Senior looked the other way and dropped his tone. "I didn't say they had anything to do with each other. I'm just saying what your sister told me. Isn't it the 'Bluth Company'? I mean, it doesn't seem very Bluth friendly to me."

Michael changed gear, "You're wearing this stuff out in public?"

"I'm at a gig in an hour."

"A gig?"

"Yes, to provide the people of the streets of Balboa Bay, the way. And to sell tickets to hear the final destination."

"Of course."

"Well, my son won't loan me the money…."

Michael reached into his pocket, producing a cheque book, and started to write.

"My son." Geroge Senior grinned.

"How would Lindsay feel about her father trying to convert people in an environment like this?"

"Oh, quite good." George Senior stirred the sundae. "See, there are two ways to get people. One is over a long period of time. The other is to knock 'em so hard when they come to their senses, they just adjust."

Michael looked at his father, perturbed by the answer, and handed over a cheque.

"I had people who had put in forty, fifty thousand, the more they put in, the less they want to admit it's not working." He laughed. "Don't tell a fool he can't fool himself, huh? Hey, this is for 20k?"

"Show me you're a good investment."

He took a mouthful of sundae and patted his sons' arm, "You've really gotta get on board with your sister on her campaign, we are only on this earth for a small window of time, my son, and she is family."

_So Michael went off to see his sister._

Maeby leaned against the Corvette, arms folded.

_But found instead his girlfriend._

"Maeby, how did you get here?"

"Taxi."

"You were booked in at the hospital for the ultrasound, have you even kept one yet?"

She rubbed her belly, "I'm sure, she/he is fine. I mean, aren't all Bluths programed to complain to you if they want something?"

"Wouldn't you want to know it was a she/he, or an alien?"

"Well, it is genetically related to dad."

"Your dad does his best."

"Sure. So, where are we going? You've been chasing money all afternoon, I figured, you'd be seeing my mom soon, and, maybe I should have a piece of that."

_Which could have been awkward, as her mom wanted a piece of her boyfriend. _

"You've been banned from the building, how are you going to get in?"

Grinning, she held up a sherry bobbins wig, a muumuu, and a large hat.

_Michael knew his partner wouldn't allow him to be a lone gunman on this assignment. _

"I'll bust you out after the meeting when security catch you, okay?" he slid into the drivers seat.

"Oh ye of little faith." Maeby shook her head, joining him on the other side. She pulled out her beeping phone as the car started to move. "Another one of these stupid fundraisers."

"The Govenor campaign?"

"Yeah, I've gotten dozens from the Dems and none from Republicans so far."

"That's not surprising, we are in California."

"No, they'll send out messages and beg for support from any hack or Hollywood grader they have a number, email, home address or GPS coordinates for. Yet, I've barely heard a thing from Xay Duzi this time."

"Maybe they know you're Maeby Fünke."

_But security didn't. So neither did her mother know when they finally got in._

Michael sat straight in conference room, adjoining Lindsay's office as she paced, phone to head. "Put it into D. N. Quarry and tell P. No, just…" She then noticed Michael. "Okay." And went over to the intercom. "I want a holy trinity in the conference room."

The helper slunk in to the other door, opening a jewellery box, with a cross on a chain in the middle and two cross earrings on either side, setting it on the table.

Lindsay gazed at Michael like a ravenous tiger, striding boldly towards both him and the earrings. "This oughta go down well with those churchies. Yes, Michael?" She then caught sight of the wig. "wait, where is he?"

Maeby stepped up from the corner wall. "Hi, mom."

"Oh." Lindsay sneered, noticing the effect of weeks of spa treatments on her daughter. "Well, don't you look stunning. Better you than the other person who wears that wig."

"I could bring my father next time."

"Yes, that reminds me, how come you're in here?"

"Your son-in-law brought me here."

_Well, almost._

"Michael, I'm not getting any sense here."

_Lindsay had only raised Maeby, after all._

"Well…erhh, hur…." Michael tripped over his words, "Maeby got herself into a little trouble, and we thought as a gesture of good will given the financial gesture we granted you, that you might be able to get the governor to grant a little something to Maeby."

"What did she do?" Maeby's mother demanded, as Maeby carefully kept sorting through a stack of paper behind her back.

Maeby went to open her mouth in protest, but eyed the dirty look Michael was giving her.

"She's on the sex offenders register. Illegally, but, it can't be removed just by a court order. We need the governor to fix it."

"It's election season. And I'm out of money, Michael. Can't the Bluth Company spot me again? Isn't it the 'Bluth Company'? Doesn't seem very Bluth friendly to me."

Maeby gazed up from her rummaging and sent her mother a look, continuing to take photos of documents with her phone.

Anxious to keep Lindsay distracted, he leaned forward, both arms over the table, flashing his blue eyes at Lindsay, "It's a tough time for all of us, and I guess, all I'm asking," he softened his voice to a sensuous whisper, "Where did the last lot of money go?"

"A Holy Trinity." She pushed the earring through her lobe.

"But, you know, back to more salient matters, regarding the governor, which I know is actually in the faith, isn't Jesus about forgiveness?"

"What, in an election about who can be the most Christian?" She chortled.

_Michael suffered from what one might call being 'ye of little faith'. As he may have been with his partner._

Leaving the large colonial building, between the large columns, he insisted, "We're off to the hospital."

"I'll get it done next week."

"You said that a month ago."

"They'll wonder why you're there."

_Because they were, after all, not having a baby together._

Michael turned the key. "Dad shot out. So I'm helping." He did the winky thing at her.

_And luckily, they didn't have to wait long._

Maeby lay on the trolley, Michael's hand resting on her arm.

Dr Fishman strode in, clipboard under arm. "Sorry for the delay, I had to tell a patient she wouldn't last here."

Maeby and Michael stared at him.

"She was pretty much cured and needed to go home, besides her insurance was running out."

Maeby nodded, "I'm here for that scan you guys do."

"She's 13 weeks, she needs an ultrasound and any other new 13 weeks scan." Michael insisted.

"Wait, you're both Bluths."

Michael retracted his arm quickly, as Maeby sent him a 'tone it down', "Michael is here as a very committed colleague."

"And she's not a Bluth. We're not related." Michael added. "Biologically."

"She is a Bluth, though." Fishman flipped through her file. "It says right here."

Michael looked to Maeby.

"I must have had some sort of inpatient incident." She argued.

Michael nodded slowly.

_And she wanted to be on the Bluths insurance. As the whole family did._

Lucille, George Michael, Michael, George Senior, and GOB had stood around supposedly comatose Buster in the hospital bed as Dr Farmer had assessed, "I think it's very important that we remember he's fully insured. I say we see how this plays out."

_It's a very inclusive policy. _

Dr Fishman rolled the wand over Maeby's belly. "I can't see anything."

"What?" the panic raised in Michael's voice.

"Because it's in the wrong area." He rolled further. "There. Not quite human."

"What?" Michael's voice edged more panicked.

"It's still developing. I'm not seeing toes."

"What?" Michael's voice went higher still.

Dr Fishman moved the wand. "Ah, there they are." He noticed Michael gripping Maeby's wrist, leaning in towards the screen.

"He's a very committed colleague." Maeby shook him off her wrist, although he barely moved away from the screen.

"All looks to be in order." He rolled the wand around. "I'll give you the DVD and an image on the way out."

"Do you make them in wallet-size?"

Dr Fishman gazed at Maeby, perplexed.

"He's a very committed colleague."

_As all Bluths had always found out, they wouldn't have the same commitment from others._

They returned to the hotel room, as Michael answered his phone. "Thirty days? You said the house was vacant? Okay. Okay. You get back to me, okay?"

Maeby followed him in. "So we're stuck here for a month?"

_Michael would not have minded moving back in, and parenting, his brother and brother-in-law, as well as avoiding the huge hotel bill they were running up, but he wanted to parent someone else far more._

"I'll go fix it up."

_Which gave Maeby time for something else the Bluth family were known for- detective work. _

Maeby leaned back into the padded outdoor furniture, overlooking the bay, swiping through the pictures she'd taken earlier on her iPad. "Rebel, yeah, it's me, have you gotten a phone call from Duzi?..No, do you know what the go is on that?"

_But Michael might have been worried about his pregnant partner playing Poirot, so he tried to call in the best._

In the parking lot of the penthouse, Michael climbed out of the Corvette. "Oh okay. You really won't do it for that much?"

_All of the best, in fact, everyone in the tri-city area. But he failed, so he tried to call in the rest._

Michael entered the Penthouse, finding his mother with a martini leafing through magazines.

"Mom, hi. Do you happen to have the phone number of Gene Parmesan? He's not online."

"Oh, I don't know Michael, I might."

Michael sighed, "What do you want this time?"

"The Platinum."

"Yeah, I was meaning to talk to you about that…"

Lucille smiled. "I'm glad you've come to your senses. And I don't know Gene's number, he just tends to appear."

Michael heard a knock at the door, and opened it.

A Fed-ex driver held out a package. "Lucille Bluth?"

"That's me." She shifted around Michael to sign for the package. "I've been so cooped up in this place, I'm sure it's another bundle of magazines." She shut the door, returning to the chair.

"Or gin." Michael quipped.

She shot him a look and pried open the box, containing a note which she read, "Look down from your balcony."

Michael and Lucille went out onto the balcony, peering down.

On the ground below in a Fed Ex uniform, Gene shouted up. "Gene Parmesan."

Lucille shrieked. "Aghh, Gene!"

"And yes Michael, I can help!"

_Michael hoped the help would be better than nothing._

Down at the corvette, Michael instructed, "All I know is the phrase, 'D. N. Quarry'."

Gene nodded. "You know what they say, follow the money," and held his hand out.

Michael stared back at him blankly.

"My retainer? The Bluth Company seem to have cut off my account?"

"When can you get something by?"

"If I get payment now, I'll come by your office tomorrow."

Michael reached into his back pocket.

_The next day, Michael, and Maeby, expected nothing._

She eased back into the headrest of the Corvette. "I can't believe you hired him. How many more people are we going to put back on the books?"

"Well not Kitty," Michael did the winky thing at her, behind the wheel. "Huh?"

_And were more than a bit surprised._

They sat facing Gene in the conference room, as he plonked a thick folder down on the table.

"What's that?" Maeby asked.

"Financial records. Donation receipts. Most of the ones going into Duzi's campaign."

"What about D. N. Quarry?" Michael questioned.

"D. N. Quarry is feeding money into twelve politicians accounts, but mostly Duzi."

"How much of Duzi's funding isn't from D. N. Quarry?"

"About a third."

"Where did you get this stuff?" Michael flipped through the folder.

Gene shrugged. "I just walked in there and said I was working on behalf of the Bluths."

_They thought he represented this Bluth – Lindsay, and not these Bluths – Maeby and Michael. And Maeby isn't a Bluth, remember, she isn't related._

Maeby swiped through her iPad. "And here's Mom's memos about the payments."

Michael and Maeby looked at each other.

_But what was going to be harder than discovering Lindsay had been funnelling company money into her political agenda, was to be who would arrest such behaviour._

Arms folded against the wall of Michael's office, Maeby insisted. "I'm coming with you."

"Sweetie, we need to put this to her…delicately. I don't want to not be able to go in there."

"Like the way you batted your eyes at her delicately?"

_Michael was known to prostitute himself out._

At the Cinco De Quatro festival, Michael had stood in the top of the staircar, facing a battered Lucille #2. "I'm going to have sex with you. For money."

Michael insisted, "She paid out. Lindsay, your mom, I mean not…anyway. Eventually. Or, she will."

_It would probably have meant a little more conversation and a little less action for him, but Michael was resigned to getting things done._

She shook her head. "Okay."

_And Michael returned to the Holy Grail of Political Graft, finding his sister gingerly anticipating his return._

"What made me think you'd return?" Lindsay leaned back in her desk chair, pursing her lips. "You know, 'Xay gets things done today.' You're voting for him right?"

"The company's money seems to be." Michael folded his arms.

"Maybe I should ban you too from my office." Lindsay mused.

"Go on. Do it."

_Michael knew he was on solid ground with that one, as Lindsay consumed him visually, confident she'd used enough company donations to prevent the company from investigating her._

"So go on, Bluth prophet, what are you here to tell me?"

"You've been funnelling money into D. N. Quarry, which then gives most of its money to Xaiver Duzi. Two thirds of his funding, in fact."

"So what if I am?"

"Well, the inquiry that is happening at the moment into political donations would probably be very interested in D. N. Quarry."

"Wouldn't they then ask where I got the money from?"

"Well, I know I wouldn't want to be losing face in front of my colleagues, because I can't speak for Maeby and what she might say about you."

"What, you think you and my grandchild are on solid ground?"

"I don't have a cache of embarrassing text messages to dump out on the public record."

She amplified her tone "And our last private meeting meant nothing to you?!"

"I don't think that improves your position….here."

Lindsay nodded slowly. "What exactly are you asking for?

"Have Xay Duzi pardon her."

"He needs a reason to do it."

"What about a Bluth Fundraising Gala?"

"I think the media know about TBA now."

"No, for some children's charity. Or shelter. You know, it'll be TBA, but not, TBA."

She flicked open her diary. "Okay. Three weeks from today."

"Don't you have to ask him first?"

She laughed, "Ask him? What does he think I'm paying him for?"

Michael winced.

_Doozy or dodgy money or not, Michael finally had what he wanted, and felt he could return back to his temporary home with his head held high._

"Honey, I've fixed it, we just need to hold a charity gala." He shouted, emptying his pockets onto the nightstand.

She walked in from the dark balcony. "Did you come onto her?"

"No."

"Did she come onto you?"

"Not quite…Sort of."

She gazed at the carpet. "I think I'm gonna hit the sack."

He stopped in front of her. "Everything's going to be okay now. Relax."

She nodded, leaving him standing there.

_It wasn't that Maeby was frustrated with the outcome, it was more than he'd felt the need to exclude her to do something she felt she could do herself. Feelings that she'd largely set to one side later that night._

Michael returned from the ensuite, in only his boxers. He watched his girlfriend undress, black lace resting on her stomach that was starting to protrude.

"What are these?" Michael admired the ensemble.

"I wasn't fitting into my old stuff." She remarked, "And you seemed to have a thing for this stuff."

_Although the last place he saw it, may not have left the best impression on him._

He slipped the boxers to the ground and smiled mischievously. "More off than on." And helped her remove it. He took her in his arms, gently kissing her neck, laying forward onto the bed, shifting into gentle motions. "I'm needing to make room around you now." He inhaled above her lips, then started planting kisses on them.

"Thanks." She remarked.

"Sweetie, it's beautiful." He whispered, and kept kissing her. When their lips had stopped moving, he leaned back towards her neck, whispering her name.

She responded by rolling him over, gently bouncing, his eyes locking on hers between moans.

He gazed deeply into the wearied yet inscrutable brown dots. Maeby looked into Michael's pale blue eyes, an expression between love and deep searching.

"It'll be over soon. I promise." Michael smiled.

She leaned into him, moaning into his mouth between kisses. As she collapsed onto him, she propped herself against his arm. "Thank you for helping me."

Michael smiled. "It's okay to ask for help, you know."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I ran off with your child."

"It's not just our baby that I need, it's you."

Maeby smiled impishly, and slipped down his torso, soon triggering Michael to sigh from the affection of her mouth, her tongue, and her lips. She moaned, enjoying his approval. His eyes travelled down towards her, her lips, and her smiling brown eyes watching him back, then rolling backward into his head, taking in the sensations. He shuddered her name, intensifying her actions. His breath quickened, hitting him, the surge, and rush.

She sat up, splayed over his legs. "Happy?"

He smiled, speaking through a haze. "I have an amazing wi-fi-gbgh…"

"Amazing what?"

"Girlfriend. I meant girlfriend."

"I'll take that as a yes." And her head went down again.

"Whatever you are…oh oh…augh." He squinted and moaned in pleasure.

_Beyond the fun, Michael located the suitable venue that had hosted so many previous Bluth Galas._

Michael and Maeby entered the worn out function centre, the roughed-up chairs stacked high on the perimeter of the hall, tables pressed against the wall.

"Are you sure about this place?"

"Apparently it's improved." He checked his phone.

On the weathered stage, Michael noticed some familiar equipment stacked to one side. "We could liven things up a bit because it'll be for kids, I mean, what if we had Karaoke?"

_At one Bluth Christmas party, Michael and Maeby had really made an impact with Karaoke._

In front of the company Christmas party, the pair had performed the first song in the book.

"Gonna find my baby gonna hold her tight, gonna grab some afternoon delight…" Michael had sung to his fifteen year old niece.

"Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ignite, and the thought of rubbing you is getting so exciting…" Maeby had sung back.

Maeby wondered, "Wait, that time that we did it together, at the party, was that before or after you saw me naked?"

"After." Michael cleared his throat. "But, but…do you remember that drive from Mex…"

She cut him off by cracking up, then kissing him. "Your naughty side is so cute."

"Well…erhh, hur…"

_Michael didn't think so, but he would find no redemption from his partner, who found his discomfort far too entertaining. _

"Let's not do Afternoon Delight. I mean, Karaoke. The staff have probably forgotten that whole thing and we probably shouldn't try to remind them. Given the occasion."

_The irony wasn't lost on Maeby. And with the preparations for the Children's TBA Gala continued, construction began again._

In hard hats, Maeby lifts the leaver on the backhoe with Michael leaning in, lifting the dirt out of the muddy pit on the Bluthton site, with a crowd of investors and journalists nearby applauding.

_Clearing the mud from one part of their lives, the subtle malleability over the mud moved it into the other._

Maeby surveyed the seating plan resting on an easel in her office, as Michael joined her. "We've got two left to fill, and Mom wants three tables at the front. I wonder who she's putting on there."

"What's that costing us? We still do have to donate to Children's TBA".

"$30k. But I mean, Duzi can't go refusing to pardon me because she's gobbling up the profits."

Michael grimaced, considering the ramifications of his sisters' conduct.

"Hello?" Rita wandered in. "Is there someone in here…" until she spotted the two. "Michael! Maeby! You came back from the moon!"

Maeby sent Michael a puzzled look, who exchanged it with a sheepish one, and threw her arms around Rita. "How are you, Rita?"

"I'm sad we don't get to see each other every day." She bemoaned, then spotted the seating plan. "You having a party?!"

"Yes we are, a Gala." Michael added.

"I love galas! Can I come?"

"It's a thousand dollars a seat…" Michael trailed off.

"Is that all? I'll take two tables!" She exclaimed, and then started skipping around the room, "Gala, gala, gala!"

_And with the final table settled, all that remained was to pursue the promised booking from the penthouse._

Michael found his brother poking a big metal cage with a rod.

"Hey, GOB, back here again?"

"Gotta practice if I'm gonna get onto Hashton Tonight!"

_WeeBBC's premier night show. _

GOB poked slightly the wrong way and the mirror inside gave way, crashing to the ground.

"Mickey, where are my shoes?"

"Oh they're coming, just let me find Mom…" Michael escaped towards the bedroom, gingerly pushing the door inward to find his mother strewn on the bed.

"You rang?" Lucille remarked drolly, a martini in hand.

"Just here to pick up the check for those tables you booked for the gala?"

"Oh that, put it on the company account." She waved her hand, leaving Michael aghast, but didn't stop. "You know Michael, if I'm coming to your dinner in a few nights, I have to be there to impress. You don't want to give your guests the impression you need to have a gala."

"Of course not, that's why I'm having one."

"I was thinking we could replace the company chopper? I found a most fantastic one…."

"We do not need to replace it, just hire a limo."

"…All the luxury you could afford." She held up her tablet to Michael. "It will save me twenty minutes in travel time!"

"For a twenty minute trip…and cost ten times as much!"

"Yes, but you're missing the point, how are you to impress people to raise money if we don't show we have money?"

Michael folded his arms. "Mom, that makes no sense, but, you're not getting a chopper."

"How am I gonna fill a table if I can't impress people?"

Michael retreated to the door. "I don't know, relatives?"

Lucille's eyes demonstrated her dissatisfaction with the idea.

_With the seating plan filled soon after Rita came on board, the rest was a blur, until the big night._

In his standard gala tux, Michael zipped Maeby up, the purple babydoll-cut ball dress poofing out in all directions, his eyes surveying his glamourous girlfriend. "You look beautiful." He kissed her hand.

"You know you have to keep your hands off me tonight."

"Yes, and It's going to be a big challenge." He tucked a strand behind her ear, and reached behind him. "I thought you were dressing up for a gala, and needed something to go with it." He opened the box. Two large solitaire diamond studs sat between a Monarch butterfly necklace encrusted with diamonds.

"Wow, thanks! Those are a good size." She pulled a stud from the box.

"You like big diamonds?"

"I've never understood people's fascination with those tiny ones, if you're getting a stone of anything, why wouldn't you want people to see it?" she slipped the stud through her ear. "Like, that thing Mom wore on her toes a few years ago, the diamond on that thing was just puny."

_The gemmological discussions were interrupted by a knock at the door, and both were swept quickly away to the enormous, luxuriously appointed hall, not reticent in opulence or fineness in any detectable way._

The scrubby, dirty room had cleaned up markedly, with white panelled walls, and a flat but wide crystal chandelier hanging from the centre. The buzz of tuxedos and high-end gowns, and Micheal leaned over to Meaby, "Good call on the karaoke."

_Lindsay had called in another favour – Moses Taylor, who played – about five years ago - Frank Wrench – of the hit TV show, Wrench- and who had a vested interest in Xay staying on the straight and narrow. And what was left of his residuals._

"And as a proud supporter of his campaign, I wanted to see him here tonight, and see him prosper, and when he said he was going to host a gala to help kids, I knew I had to be a part of it."

_It would also help with his community service that he'd been given for injuring a child with a wayward bullet. In the back._

"I am proud to support this charity, as many charities, and give back to the community, my community, our community. As together, we can build the California of tomorrow."

Maeby gazed over at her mother, noticing her mouthing the words as Moses said them.

"And like the Bluth family here tonight, who have his back, I know that California will get things done today, with Xay."

Maeby finished applauding and headed towards Rita, seated in a central table. As she approached, she heard Rita's commentary of the content on her phone. "Oh, I don't like her." And she swiped. "That guy up the back, he's funny." And she burst into laughter. "Him, he looks mean. And wow, he's so gruff like a troll. I don't like that one." The minders looked worried, whispering hushed tones of "Jeremy Clarkson," and rushed away.

"Hey, Rita, how are you?" Maeby smiled.

"I'm tops, just watching some telly, how are you?"

"What are you watching?"

"I don't know, they put things in front of me. You know, one day, I was at the seaside, and got a call that they wanted to sell me BigBBC to me, they said their friend said I was the perfect person. I guess because of my instinctelligence."

"Your what?"

"Oh, a word I made up, instincts AND intelligence."

"Yeah, that must have been it." Maeby smiled.

"The friend said three Angel Gabriels appeared before him and said, we bring you instructions of great joy which will be for our people."

She shook her head, "Too right."

Michael climbed up onto the stage, taking the microphone, the enormous silver 'Children's TBA' sign behind him. "Everyone, can I ask you to take your seats? Thank you for coming tonight to raise money for this important cause. Children are very important, having been one, and raised one," he instinctively swept the room but failed to remember George Michael would be absent, instead his eyes falling to Maeby before he remembered why it shouldn't, "We understand why protection is so critical and keeping children in good environments, and away from predators," his eyes fell on Maeby, and then quickly darted away, "Well…erhh, hur…" he tripped over his words, "Which is why it's critical that we continue to raise money for children, to keep them in safe hands. And what better place to start, with our own, two hands." He held up his hands. "So we thank you all for joining us tonight, to keep children, in safe hands."

A smatter of applause emanated from the crowd, as Michael left the stage, not hearing an approach from behind. "How are things?"

Michael jumped and spun around to find Trevor behind him. "You got me there…"

"With the ah…you know." He winked. "How many is she now?"

"Five months." Michael whispered.

Trevor nodded slowly, "You're lucky with her out on show tonight, can't see a thing under that dress." He winked. "I hope it's worth it."

_Michael eyed his diamond shine from across the floor._

"I know she..."

Michael heard a 'Mr F' sound, and that he was alone.

Frank Wrench broke up the elevator music. "Please join us on the dance floor for the casual retro dance!"

As the tables emptied to the beat of _Spacer _by _Sheila B Devotion_, Maeby sat alone, anxiously on the table. Her eyes scanned the room for the person who was to sit next to her. A feather touch brushed over her shoulder, and down her arm as her heart skipped a beat.

"Where were you?"

"There was a call I had to answer."

"You're always at the ready to answer a call."

"Yes, I'm going Michael on you again."

Her cheeks warmed from the intense love in his eyes. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm so lucky."

"Why?"

"You're the only one I'll ever need."

Lindsay strode towards them, "We have an issue." She stuck her head between the lovers, "I don't see a spot for Duzi to give a few words."

"He's a politician, don't they just talk?"

"Michael, I know, you know, things just don't fit in like that." She further pushed herself between Michael and Maeby.

Michael stood up, and paused, "I'll just ask Wrench to introduce him."

"No, no, you can't do that. We don't want it to appear a pantsfront. It has to blend in, you know, as if you just had the idea come to you he should say a few words."

"I think the word you're looking for is shirtfront, and that other speech I gave was planned."

_Michael was famous for not being strong on his feet._

"I'm not sure about giving an impromptu few words."

_The last few impromptu speeches Michael gave were less than oratory icons._

Michael had stood on the Queen Mary boat, in front of the Mount up Pard'ners' sign, in the same tux, speaking in front of a hundred or so guests, "Three years ago, I made a choice to keep this family together... Uh, today looks like I succeeded."

Stan Sitwell had commented to Lucille, "That's who you're putting in charge?"

Lucille had held her unredeeming drink high, "I've made a huge mistake."

Lindsay leaned so as Michael faced her. "Well if he just climbs up there, you don't think it's not going to look a little sus?" the back of her head faced her daughter.

"I think I can manage without it turning into a major international incident."

_Or manage, again._

A sodden Michael had stood parallel to the stage, watching GOB wave his arms as pilot light-size flames flickered and extinguished on the lukewarm set.

"And there, we have the power, of Hephaestus." GOB had waved his arms, greeted by a smattering of applause from the crowd.

In the space-age studio of a distance land, the two compares had greeted the camera, Peter Capaldi in first. "And that was Michael and 'gob' Bluth, performing, 'The Heat of Hephaestus'."

"What a brilliant pair of American clowns." Fiona Bruce had smouldered.

_And Michael gave not crying, or gagging his best shot._

Michael boarded the stage, taking the mic, "Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to interrupt the dancing, but we have a very special guest here tonight, I think it's only fit having such a supporter he can say a few word. I give you, Govenor Xay Duzi!" Michael stepped away to a roar of applause, as Xay boarded the stage.

"First of all I want to thank you all for having me here today. It is such an honour to be here with you, the people," he gestured out at the tables of the thousand dollar a head fundraiser, "and let me say, I only have one master, and one maker, when I get back in in three months time, I will be there only to serve you!"

_The crowd applauded this standard, none louder than Lindsay, who always liked the sound of her own words. _

Lindsay had shoved the piece of paper in his hands. "It's a quick in and out. Get out there, whip it out, put everything in, and then run."

Xay Duzi had stared back, with concern.

"Do I need to demonstrate?"

Xay had appeared more concerned.

Xay on stage continued, "I am so pleased to be here today, due to the immense charity work and contribution to the community, the government of California will be pardoning Maeby Fünke of her past conviction for Statuary Rape, and she be removed from the sex offenders register."

_The crowd was not in fact informed of her conviction, or the pardoning that was to take place, and so at a charity gala which was to raise money for children, a convicted felon was let off, leaving the response was rather muted._

Both Michael and Maeby took to the stage, with Maeby at the microphone. "Thank you so much Govenor, and thank you to the people of California, I owe you one!"

_She certainly did._

Michael leaned in, addressing the shell-shocked crowd. "And now, let's all dance!"

From the floor speakers, _How High_ by _Cognac _emanated through the room.

_Michael and Maeby stood high on the stage._

Behind the rostrum, Michael slipped his fingers into hers, and whispered "follow me."

They slipped off the stage and through the side door into the passage leading to the kitchen, the music seeping out from under the door.

Michael pulled her in, as they waltzed to the beat. "Nobody's gonna see us." He whispered.

Maeby raised an eyebrow, but didn't protest.

_And as they held each other, they danced wondering: given they'd pulled off a pardon in a month, just how high could they go?_

_On the next episode of Bluthon, _

Maeby closed the hotel room door behind her. "Honey, I found the tiny teddy."

A smile burst over Michael's face. "Give me two minutes."

_Maeby finds a tiny teddy for Michael's consumption._

Michael emerges from the bathroom, wearing little other than boxers with a cheeky grin on his face, quickly wiped from finding his girlfriend sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed.

Maeby looks up as Michael rounds the bed, putting the small, teddy-bear shaped biscuits in her mouth.

"Wait, what are those?"

_At the Colonial Consignment Mall._

She holds up the box. "See, Tiny Teddies."

Michael responded self-righteously. "Come on!"

Maeby smiled mischievously as she munched. "Compared to the other ones, these aren't bad."

_She had really burned her teddy._


	10. Carpe Maeby

_This is the story, not of one man, but two. It is the story of the aspirational and normative style of being and living as a natural-born man that a critical mass of the members of that population applauds, or alternatively, derides. And what that is._

In the Penthouse's gleaming white yet tiny kitchen, George Michael turned from the sink, coming face to face with his father, Michael, who had bowled into the kitchen with a full beer in his hand, which came to rest all over both of them.

_Which neither were being just at that moment. It is the story of Michael Bluth, and his son George Michael Bluth. And it starts in the backstreets of Hollywood, a place many people go to find it. But it wouldn't be a good day for one man searching for his. At 11.30PM in California, Bluths don't usually expect to hear from other Bluths._

George Michael's heart jumped when he saw the name flash on his phone.

_Or particularly George Michael from Maeby F__ü__nke._

He swiped. "Maeby?"

"George Michael, hi. I'm really sorry to do this to you…can you please come pick me up?"

"Where are you?"

_Soon, George Michael was out her way. _

He drove slowly to the destination, an ominous but upbeat song playing through the speakers, the wordless track sounding as if it was _Dead Already_. Pulling up to the kerb and parking, his gut sunk seeing her emerge from the darkness on the other side of the road, the glamourous long babydoll dress, hair tousled to perfection, but showing a fraction more around the waist than usual – she had never looked better. He eventually climbed out, and stopped.

"Hey, so, long time no see."

Maeby glanced down at her bump. "Yeah. A bit more around the waist."

"Well…it's a bit hard not to, carrying another person."

"So she told you?"

"Of course, we, ah, share everything."

_Almost._

Maeby exhaled. "Yeah. Thank you for coming out here."

"No, it's okay." He gestured back to his car. "I enjoy coming out to dangerous parts of the OC at night."

She climbed into the back seat, and he opened the opposite door. "Can I, um, join you for a second?"

"Not gonna get fresh, are you?" She laughed half-heartedly.

"No. I just um, want one thing. Can I hug you?"

"Okay."

As the music drifted into bongo drums and banjo, he wrapped his arms around her shoulder, and rested his head on it, laying a hand gently on her stomach, and closed his eyes.

_While Maeby was getting a free ride, George Michael was given a free opportunity, alone, with the woman he kept dreaming about, and with her in his arms for a brief moment, could take himself to somewhere where everything he was holding was his. And they lived in a giant mansion in Beverley Hills next to Sylvester Stallone with four tennis courts and a sauna he shared with Stallone- but that was peripheral to the fantasy. His mind eased back to somewhere like this point;_

The Bluth family had stood around the dining room table of the penthouse, table laid with huge pans of breakfast. As some Bluths nursed plates tiny in comparison to the breakfast spread around them, Michael had ventured into a speech about the future. "Keep in mind we are building something that is not only for our own kids; it's also for George Michael and Maeby's kids, too."

George Michael had stood in front of her, "What? What? We can't have kids! What's the matter...? What are you...? I mean it's not even an option, really."

Michael had failed to see the awkwardness of his phrasing, "Well, eventually, you'll want to."

George Michael had continued to try not to beam. "Sure, I may want to, you know, now. I-It doesn't matter. Either way, I won't do anything about it. Come on!"

The older, more cynical, and downtrodden George Michael inhaled, and then sighed, the scent of her skin mixing with the violets in her perfume.

_George Michael felt gripped by the pain, not wanting to let go of the biggest mistake of his life. Alas, for George Michael, as is sometimes the case, the greatest tragedies of life has been the risks that weren't taken, in the face of others standing in his way._

As Maeby had driven away in the golf cart in the enormous aircraft hangar she'd rented for them to run the business in, he'd shouted, "Maeby, you're fired."

George Michael out onto the dim hues of the LA sidewalk through the glass. "You could have made Fakeblock work." He mumbled.

"Yeah, I think so."

_His fiancée – remember her – had bought him a Latin phrase calendar. He hadn't changed the day since he'd gotten 'carpe diem'. He briefly considered what she'd do if he did 'get fresh', how it would be if, just one more time, secretly, she would say yes. If maybe then, she'd say she secretly they could sail to Bermuda. And they'd, secretly, raise his half brother or sister as his own. But the painful thing about secrets is, sometimes they are secret for a reason. And they are sometimes destined to stay that way. And sometimes, the best option for everyone is not the easiest._

"Carpe Diem." He sighed again, and sat up, defeated in the moment. "Okay, where am I taking you?"

_And while Maeby sought help from the family, Michael had been getting none._

"Mom, you can't keep me in here!" Michael banged on the penthouse bedroom door. "This is false imprisonment."

_Several hours earlier, Lucille had placed a call to her son, for what was apparently an emergency at the penthouse._

"It cannot wait, Michael! It's in my bedroom! Hurry!"

_And it was not a monster, nor a plumbing emergency, despite what she then made out, and Michael got sucked in under lock and Lucille._

Michael had sprinted into the penthouse bedroom then ensuite, the door slamming shut behind him. His turning the handle had not shifted the door at all. "Aww, come on!"

Lucille casually flipped through the magazine, martini in the other hand, seated in the single sofa. "You're not coming out until you reinstate that membership, Michael."

"We can't afford the platinum, we can barely afford the gold!"

"You raised hundreds of thousands of dollars tonight!"

"For TBA!"

"That's us?!"

"No, Children's TBA."

"Well, all I know is I can't get into the soirees at the club on Friday."

"You can pay the thirty dollars, it's a discounted rate!"

"I wouldn't need to pay that if you paid for platinum."

"Platinum is a three thousand dollars more a year, and how many soirees do you go to a year?"

_On average, three._

Lucille disposed of the magazine, and approached the door. "That's not the point, it's…common to pay before you go into those things, I want to flash my card."

"Come on Ma, this is ridiculous."

"You're being ridiculous, Michael. It's only ten thousand dollars."

Michael moaned, "Can you at least give me my phone?"

Lucille saw the buzzing device with Maeby's name flashing on it, "You don't need it, you're talking to me."

"I run the Bluth Company, I always need it."

"Doesn't seem very Bluth friendly to me at the moment." Lucille returned to her single sofa.

Buster attended to the knock on the door, bypassing the kerfuffle going on in the living area. "Hey, Maeby and…George Michael! Like old times." He uttered, wistfully.

"Yeah, uh, Ganki said there was some stuff I needed to grab." He proceeded forward, Maeby behind.

"Hello!?" Michael shouted and banged from the bedroom.

"Michael!" Maeby noticed his phone on the table, bypassing Lucille, and unlocking the door. "What are you doing here?"

"Good question." He sent his mother a dirty look as she returned to her magazine.

"Why don't I get us something to cool down with?" George Michael suggested.

"Let me help you." Michael dove for the pile of alcohol stacked next to the kitchen, finding of all liquors, a beer in cans, with clear glasses lined up on the hall table. Combining the two, he rushed into the kitchen to deliver to his son.

_Which is how father and son came to share a beer down their shirts. But the near-prison experience got Michael thinking, about his fitness and his abilities, given his new responsibilities due in only a few months. And if he could have escaped faster if he was only a little stronger._

In the garage of their new home, Michael ummed and ahhed. He picked up the dumbbell, flexing his bicep, enjoying the weight as he did reps.

_It could also have been related to him finding a shirt that didn't find him._

In the exclusive man's boutique, Michael had gazed in the wall of unflattering mirrors, the smart blue shirt with the white collar tight around his middle.

"Yes, very exclusive, they only go up to that size."

Michael had patted around his middle, sucking in his gut.

"You'd only have to lose five pounds."

_So Michael did the thing everyone should do when confronted with clothing that will fit if they lose weight._

"I'll take it."

_Or should have done. The problem was, Bluth men didn't lose weight._

A young Lucille had walked into their bedroom, eyeing off George Senior, who was flexing in the mirror. "That big ring would be visible from two months ago."

George Senior had munched on the onion ring. "I'm as fit as I've always been." George Senior stood parallel to the mirror, and sucked in his gut.

"That's if I married the Michelin man."

George Senior narrowed his eyes at her, then paced out into the living room, in only his underwear. "Boys, if some broad tries to tell you you're fat, you tell her, only gays lose weight."

The three boys under ten looked straight up, their dad's stomach bulge hanging over his billowing boxers.

_It was going to be one of those comments that would stick. Which is one Michael followed._

Michael jogged in through the garage, chest and underarms dripping, barely a spot on his t-shirt dry.

Maeby zapped the door on her car. "You're really making an effort."

"I am gonna be a dad again." He lay down on the bench, lifting the heavy iron bar and weights.

She stood over her mature boyfriend, "Don't hurt yourself."

"Why, do you think I will?"

_Maeby had managed to not talk about the small issue of Michael's age before, while she held the car keys._

"You're doing an awful lot for a…" She stopped dead.

He lifted the weight and slipped it into the holder. "Does my age worry you?"

"Um…It's more that, you're doing a workouts my top actors would do every day…"

"But would you settle down with a man who was older than you?"

She looked down at her belly, rubbing it, "I think I already have. Unless you have someone else in mind? Are you trying to refer me to GOB?"

_It wasn't a question he'd wanted her to ask GOB about. It was a conversation Lindsay had remembered a few weeks earlier, which Michael had tried not to._

In the old model home, Lindsay had sat on a barstool opposite Michael at the island, GOB standing in front of him, the kitchen a sea of pack wrapping and open cupboards that Lindsay had failed to deal with.

Michael had pondered, "Truthfully, that's why I'm not so crazy about that Ann. He'll move on."

"Unless he knocks her up like you did with his Mother." GOB had remarked.

Michael had stared back, having trying unsuccessfully to mask his guilt.

Back in the garage, Michael pondered his response, "I don't think anyone would refer anyone to GOB for anything."

_Even his recent readmission in the Magician's Alliance hadn't gotten him back as one of their referrals for a local magician. Instead, they were still telling people to use a clown two towns over. Who didn't tend to set clients, or houses, on fire._

Michael had found the apartment TV pushed back, the coffee table upended against the wall, and the middle of the floor four pylons almost reaching the roof spouting flames.

GOB had thrown his arms in the air. "With the power of Hephaestus, I command you!" He insisted, a puff of smoke, and a scrawny, weathered blond woman appeared on the opposite side of the trick. "Aw, come on!" he exclaimed as water gushed from the sprinklers.

Gazing out into their garden of lawn and the odd hardy shrub, Michael shrugged. "I was just curious." he lay back down, continuing his reps.

_Having their new house firstly vacated and finally occupied, Michael's newfound optimism had started to creep into other parts of his life, and he thought it was time to resurrect another Bluth symbol of the boardwalk._

Michael stood in the doorway to the warehouse, the bright light creeping in behind him into the large, dark space, and he smiled at what he saw before him.

_And George Michael got another unexpected phone call._

He gazed at his phone, groaning at the name that appeared.

"George Michael, how are you, son?"

"I get a call from my dad, and I ask myself, what could be better?"

"Great, great. Look, I was thinking about the other night, that beer we had together,"

Back in the penthouse kitchen, the night before, Michael and George Michael had collected the wet from the beer that was sailing through the air all over their shirts.

Michael continued to reminisce, "You remember back in the old days, how much time we used to spend together?"

_Before George Michael started sleeping with a woman Michael was dating, which Michael then found out about and failed to mention. And then Michael started dating the woman George Michael had idolised about for years, which Michael had told George Michael all those years ago he was not allowed to date. Then not ideal he date her. Kinda. George Michael's head went to not the warm, happy place the question had aimed to elicit._

"Yes. Our whole days together."

"I was thinking, we're heading towards summer. So we're going to try re-opening the banana stand, and I want you to be involved in that."

"Sure." George Michael faked optimism, his pretence projecting as lacing with sarcasm.

"Great! I'll see you down at the boardwalk Tuesday two weeks, noon."

_Which then came all too soon for all of them. _

The Banana stand stood slightly worn and in need of a paint on the boardwalk, Michael leaning against it at the boardwalk, George Michael finding himself feeling seeing his father again was too soon. "Dad." George Michael tried to smile, as he found himself outside of the stand which was his life one world away.

"Son. How great to see you!"

"Yes, let's stay here forever…"

George Michael's stomach dropped as he gazed at the rounding shape of Maeby, as both she headed towards them.

"Maeby. I didn't realise you'd be making a threesome."

Maeby shrugged, "I seem to be the expert on nuts."

_Which of course, she was referring to these._

At the Banana stand way back in the day, with a frozen George Michael in her way, the young Maeby had reached over, dipped a banana in chocolate, and then placed it in Ron Howard's hands. "It's nuts that aren't popular. Hey, aren't you Ron Howard?"

In the New York diner opposite Michael, with the sad banana split between them, Maeby had surmised, "Nobody likes the nuts. A fair number of people rejected them."

_Which made her the perfect person to take dippings on the Bluth Bananas._

"I feel like I could be a bit rusty." Maeby joked, pushing apart the shutters. With two bananas in hand, she dunked into the chocolate, lifting both out, and into the nuts, handing them to George Michael and Michael.

Michael took his hard, tall banana. "Solid as a rock ay…"

George Michael tried to recoil from the mess dripping on his hands, as his soft banana had melted flaccidly all over his hand.

_It was an interesting time for Bluth men, especially with the hot mess._

"Oh, I'm so sorry, George Michael." Maeby reached out from the stand, grappling to help take the hot fruit out of his hands, "I've blown it all over my hands!" Unable to grip the sticky goo, it slipped everywhere, chocolate streaming south down her rounded, bare bodice.

George Michael forgot the pain in his hand, entranced by the display. "It's really okay, no need to spank the monkey."

Maeby and Michael looked at him sideways.

His eyes slipped to her wiping the dripped chocolate. "Til monkey."

Michael spotted reporters in the distance. "It's local media, I better go greet them."

"This has gone better than I thought it might." Maeby remarked.

"What did you think would happen?"

"Oh, it might be in the bay by the time we got here. Sitwell is still peeled off."

"Nothing's inevitable."

"Exactly. Because everything's that meant to happen does. Eventually." She smiled at him.

_Maeby's smile was enough to melt anything of George Michael's, including any banana he might have. And inevitably, a string of bad luck will turn good at some point, which it did, and the Bluths got good media for once. On page sixteen._

At the kitchen table, Michael opened the newspaper, flicking the tabloid pages, flicking, "where is it?"

_At the bottom._

Michael smiled to himself.

_To the back of the paper or not, Michael decided that it was time to carpe his diem._

He wandered into Maeby's office, a mischievous smile on his face, "Hello CFO." And closed the door.

Maeby harredly restacked a pile of loose paperwork, moving to the next stack. "Yes, CEO?"

"Honey…we need to go out and see our new land."

"Oh, that reminds me, the lot next to Bluthton opened up, I said we'd discuss it." She continued to flip.

"Ah well, Carpe Diem."

She raised her eyes slowly. "Yeah. How about that."

_Has it ever been said that Bluth men are similar?_

"So we need to go see the other land."

"How's tomorrow for you?"

"I was thinking, right now."

"Okay."

"And we'll be going overnight so you'll need some warm clothing."

"For southern California."

"Yes. You're pregnant."

"I get warmer now than I was when I wasn't pregnant?"

"Better to be safe than sorry. Carpe diem!" He grinned.

She strained a grin back.

_And they boarded the company jet,_

"Why are we on the plane to go to Southern California?"

"It's quicker. Time is money, you know."

"I'm pregnant, should I be flying?"

"Don't worry, it won't be long."

_Three hours long. Or rather, three hours later, when the plane touched down. And somehow he convinced her to let him blindfold her and walk her off it, until she was standing somewhere cobbled and cold. _

"You can look now."

The surrounds faded from black, where she found herself on a wooden park bench. Around her spread a long street of quaint village shops lit by antique street lamps fitting with the 18th century charm and theme of the entire street, dotted by small shops with huge bay windows adorned with quaint awnings on the red brick and white finishes, a steeple in the background, all with a uncanny level of permanence, as fluffy snow lay all around.

"We're in Massachusetts, aren't we?" She remarked, deadpan in delivery.

"Okay, hear me out. I know you don't have a lot of happy memories here, but I think this could be good for you to come back. Just, hold your thoughts, okay?"

She sighed, "I'll call LA and cancel the infomercial I booked for tomorrow."

Michael beamed at her.

_But it was not the easy cancellation Maeby had hoped for._

"Okay, yeah okay." She held her hand over the phone. "They'll charge us double if we cancel."

"Can't they just run a blank screen?"

"Yeah, if it was 1955…" she mumbled, before continuing, "No. They need something in its place."

"Here, let me call GOB."

_But GOB didn't have his phone. It had been swapped, in the garbage pit that was an apartment at one point. Tobias did._

"Oh right, yeah, there's this spot that's opened up on TV for half an hour, and we…"

"TV? Well, I'm sure I could extend my rep-par-dey to the small screen if necessary."

"It's for tomorrow. Ah no, I don't think you can go on with that outfit. Just cook or something. Okay. Bye."

"It's all good?"

"Well, I don't know what GOB's going to say that his big break on American TV."

_Michael could leave those pieces to pick up for tomorrow's Michael. Back at the Bay, George Michael found himself dismayed and also in pieces._

The door had been jimmied, glass everywhere, furniture tipped over.

The smarmy insurance inspector gazed over the wreckage. "Interesting part of the OC you have your office in."

"Oh yeah?"

"Just ah, a shooting a couple of doors down recently, they were unarmed, it didn't end well."

"Well, um, I've never been one much for using weapons against invaders with weapons."

The guy shrugged. "Up to you, I can hook you up with a great place." The man handed over a card. "I know how alive I'd rather be."

_The Bluths had a history with guns_

Lindsay had stood in the wilderness park in the mink fur coat as the heel on her shoe gave out, sending her to all fours. From the distance, Tobias aimed his rifle, shooting a tranquizer into her rear, just as Moses Taylor returned.

"Oh crap!" Moses' checked the surrounds for onlookers, before he had kneeled down and picked up Lindsay.

"I'm being saved by Frank Wrench!" Lindsay had mumbled.

"No you're not." He insisted as he'd lifted.

_But times had changed, as had the owner of the British Sun Times, who had run the series on Moses Taylor, and she – being the largest media owner in Big Brittan – was unlikely to run further coverage on Bluth gun scandals. As had George Michael, who far from feeling faint around a firearm, felt ferocious fever to try before he'd buy._

In the firing range, in ear muffs, George Michael pointed the long, shiny barrel away from him toward the target, squeezing the trigger. BANG. And again. BANG BANG. He enjoyed the power. For a moment, he forgot where he was, and started targeting the head of the target, enjoying the loud sounds the machine made. BANG, BANG, BANG.

_And for once, something made him forget his life, and his troubles. Nothing at this point made him feel more powerful than a firearm in a shooting range. It was in stark contrast to the man he was becoming. _

George Michael had slumped over his tablet in the darkened room, sunk into the living room sofa. Sitting on the [beep] search page, he sighed.

_George Michael, like his uncle before him, was about to stumble into the world of blue. But a very different blue._

He had typed in the string 'blue pill' and hit enter, then scrolled down, reading descriptions that included words 'red pill', 'alpha male' and 'Chad'.

_And soon, he had a whole suite of new friends, who understood his woman problems, and his desire to be a better man, or as they called it, an 'Alpha'._

George Michael had leaned over the kitchen island, scrolling through the posts on the forum.

"Did you know that corrective surgery on the face isn't necessary and there are exercises that men can do to improve their looks?"

Rebel had closed the fridge, and stared at him.

"If you reduce the size of your sinus cavity in your face," he had opened his mouth and scrunched his eyes, "see how you can get a stronger jaw line?"

"Or you could just know you were handsome to me and not waste your time trying to look like a science project." Rebel had suggested. "Why are you reading that stuff?"

_George Michael hadn't wanted to share with his partner his insecurities about not being attractive to another woman. For some reason._

"I find it interesting I guess. Carpe Diem." And he'd closed the balcony door behind him.

_Having being attempted to be 'picked up' by men trained by the same so-called 'pick up artists' who frequented the forums George Michael was finding, Rebel had recognised the rhetoric. For a split second, George Michael found a group of men that had problems with women. However, their problems went way beyond the quarrels he was facing. And Rebel needn't have waited long, as soon George Michael would get shook out._

George Michael had read the words on the screen, 'I wish there had been a red pill movement in my youth during the 90s. Feminists were just as rape-crazy.', 'Need more signatures to get age of consent down to 12', and 'Everyone has the urge to murder.'

_Because strangely enough, a man who is getting some from a movie star couldn't quite fit into their stellar galaxy. Except he wasn't, and his mind was elsewhere._

In the steamy white tiled shower, George Michael inhaled, his gut hanging low and far. He sunk under the water spurting over him, his eyes closing.

_George Michaels' nose prickled from her smell, the image of her laying beneath him appearing. And as his hand slipped down his torso and he shuddered, her scent become stronger the faster he stroked. She heard him call out his name, the pictures in his mind forming, her image growing more desiring the longer he went until it all went black. He opened his eyes to find he had a hot mess on his hands, and he felt himself showered in shame. So buying a gun was a highlight for the day, while this was the arguable low point._

George Michael and Rebel were flopped on the sofa, vegetating in front of the TV.

"And East of Orange County, an incident of a local strangling the bishop has vexed residents. This was the third time this week, and police are baffled." John Beared announced over some graphic pictures.

"Wow, that's terrible." Rebel marvelled.

"Maybe there's something behind it." George Michael shrugged. "Who knows."

"I just hope our Bishop isn't strangled." Rebel lay a hand on George Michael's shoulder.

"What?"

"For our wedding."

_George Michael may have had more to say on that. But back in Massachusetts, relaxation was far from the current occupation._

Michael walked out ahead of his girlfriend along the cobbled street, pulling her along by the hand, whose phone was glued to her head.

"We can't go higher than that per acre. Go back to him."

"Honey?" Michael sighed, trying to peruse the paper map he had held out in front of him.

She put the phone to her bag. "Michael, I know if I keep pushing, I'll get him down several hundred per acre."

"Can he call back?" and he added under his breath as she returned to the phone, "In a week?"

"No, no, no…" She argued, as Michael pulled away and up a large set of stone stairs, past an unattended desk.

"This is familiar."

In his bedroom at the model home, George Michael had struggled to his father, "But if I fail math, there goes my chance at a good job and a happy life full of hard work, like you always say."

"Yeah. Math is important." He sighed, still pulling her forward.

_After all, he'd only taken up with a woman who had never passed algebra. And put her in charge of his money. And it was more remarkable that from his memory, it was the discussion over math that Michael had mused._

Michael continued to pull his partner who remained glued to her phone through the lobby and then through the large set of well-used double doors, they entered the large 90s hall, a small radio plugged into the wall the only sound. "That was Britney, and now here's Fatboy Slim from 1999!"

Michael focused into the old, worn carpet, "wait, I think we've been here before."

She returned the phone to her bag. "Sorry?"

"This song was playing." He walked towards a corner. "This whole place was filled with tables, I was here," He pointed down, "And you were with your parents, over there." He pointed.

Back in 1999, the seven-year-old Maeby had sulked, leaning against the fabric-covered wire chair, her mother flipping back her long blond locks with a Champaign in hand.

"I do not look like Nell!"

"That's not what your tennis club thinks!" a more spritely Tobias had quipped, as the group chortled. "Ooga chaka!"

From the boomy 90s speakers, _Praise You _by _Fatboy Slim_ radiated through the room.

Michael watched Maeby rolled her eyes as he approached. "Hey, Lindsay, long time no see!"

She turned, "Oh, it's Michael." Lindsay eased flippantly, "Everyone, meet my brother."

"Michael." He added, as Michael went in turn shaking hands with Lindsay's yuppie friends. "Who's this?" He gestured to Maeby.

"This is our daughter Maeby." Tobias had gestured.

"Mm, yeah." Lindsay had added, unedified.

He kneeled down. "Hey, Maeby, I'm your uncle, Michael."

"You don't need to talk down to me, I'm not retarded." Maeby retorted.

"Maeby!" Lindsay growled, shaking her finger at her, "don't be rude to your uncle! Apologise!"

_But Michael Bluth was touched by the brutal honesty of at least one member of his family, and the fact that there might be someone other than his parents who may be as smart as he was. So his face broke into a smile._

He'd stood up. "No, no, she's right. You know, I saw them putting out cupcakes a few minutes ago, maybe you'll find one you like?"

Maeby had smiled, "Like, actual cake?"

"Last time I checked."

"Yum!" She'd dashed towards the table, passing by a man gorging on shrimp.

Lindsay had grumbled, "Michael, we're trying to keep her to the kelp diet at the moment."

"Yes, apparently it could increase her brain capacity by four per cent." Tobias had nodded. "According to one study. From the University of Phoenix."

"It does seem like she could need stimulating. Sorry, I had no idea."

_Michael had missed his sister and her crazy ideas. As much as he'd missed acne._

"I had always heard food was good for kids." He had wandered towards the table himself, "That niece of mine, she's one hell of a girl."

In the empty hall of now, Maeby smiled. "You were like the only person that day who spoke to me like I wasn't stupid or useless."

"Yeah, I can believe it. I can't believe how long I've known you."

She took his hand, squeezing, as they strolled around the hall. "Michael,"

"Yeah?"

"Does it change the way you think about me? Like, see me?"

Michael paused. "It was a long time ago. But you're you, and you always have been. When we all lived in the model home together, you were my niece but, it wasn't like I ever had to stick my neck out to do things for you, you weren't…a burden. I never had to say for you, 'but she's family'. I pleaded with your parents to pay more attention to you, several times. It was so different seeing you in George Michael's dorm, you were a woman."

"What were you thinking when you hugged me?"

"It was good seeing you. As an adult. Why, were you thinking something?"

"No. It was working together."

And hottubbing.

In swimsuits, Michael and Maeby had enjoyed the bubbles, with Champaign in the in the heart shaped tub of the Hatelove Hotel.

"I can't say that the Hatelove Hotel has been the best experience, but this sure beats boardroom meetings." Michael had mused.

Michael took her left hand and pulled her in with his other arm, smiling, and leaning in, pressing cheek to cheek, as they started to slowly waltz, whisper-singing, "we've come a long, long way, together, through the hard times, and the good, I have to, celebrate you Maeby, I have to praise you like I should…"

She snorted with laugher, as they went around. "Hey wait, you can waltz?"

"I guess it must be from those dance classes I took for my last wedding."

_Which were being refreshed by more recent classes._

"And step-two-three, side-together two-three…I said step! Step!" The woman had barked from the sidelines, and groaned. "Tobias said you'd be useless."

_Tobias didn't quite say useless, he said something about it being beyond Michael's shooting range…let's just not repeat it._

"You can too."

"I got told all the studio execs knew how."

_This was a bit of an exaggeration by a best boy to press the flesh with Maeby._

The fifteen year old Maeby had been pressed against the slightly older, skinny, nerdy brunette studio hand in the empty ballroom set.

"And step-two-three, side-together two-three…I said step! Step!" He groaned. "Come on Maeby, everyone's beautiful when they dance."

_She didn't need to dance to cue those statements._

Maeby had grimaced internally.

As the dance in the Massachusetts hall came to a close, she added, "One more thing," She pondered. "Sorry for being rude all those years ago."

"I was presuming, but, probably best to leave it out of the speech."

"What speech?"

"The, ah…the…one we'd have to give to the media if this gets out."

"Why would we even include a detail like that?"

_Unfortunately, again, Michael was being presumptuous. _

"Hrm, yeah. I think you should take over media from now on." He broke her grip and started walking way quickly.

And he tried to turn it into a win. Which may not have been the best plan given the overall goal of this sojourn.

"Wait, what?…!" She took chase.

_As public perception fought against two Bluths, another was busy fighting against himself._

George Michael lowered his arms steady in front of him, a green wristband on one wrist, the shiny barrel reflecting the dim lights. As it gleamed, he held it firmly, pointing it at the centre of the head target, squeezing the trigger. And again. And again. "Away!" He muttered through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing, teeth gleaming. "Get away!" he pulled the trigger again and again. He continued until he was out of breath, removing his ear muffs and trying to reduce is breathing from hyperventilation.

_It was hard to know what George Michael was trying to get away from. The business that was doing so well it was always on the brink of closure, or the dangerous neighbourhood it operated in. The fact he was in love with his cousin, or the movie star he couldn't bear to touch._

Rebel threw her arms around him as he returned to their castle. "Hi, sweetie!" She grinned.

"Oh, hey!" he tried to not look uncomfortable.

"Where have you been?"

"Just ah, out." He muttered.

She spotted the bright wristband. "Wait, that's from the shooting range."

_Rebel had become aware of the item while doing a targeted PSA about shooting ranges._

Rebel had stood against the white backdrop, sporting a handful of green wristbands, and a can with a hole in it.

"Target practicing the bar cans at a shooting range? Don't do it."

Fiddling with the paper, George Michael mumbled, "Yeah, um, I…wanted to give it a shot you know."

"That's interesting, because I found a pack of bullets in our car yesterday."

_George Michael was about to get shot by love. Shot down._

"So what, you're doing guns now?"

George Michael picked up the Lego Town minifig Lem had left on the floor, straightening its torso. "It um, makes me feel like a man." He placed it inside the Lego helicopter on the coffee table, proceeding to fidget with the helicopter.

"We've barely had sex in two months?! And you think buying a weapon and playing with it like a toy will make you a man? That's not what men are where I come from. I have done three PSAs about guns, do you know how many people die from them every year?"

"I feel like I'm in control." He rubbed his hands together frenetically.

"Of what?"

"Stuff. My life." He gazed out the large glass windows.

"As opposed to letting me control it? As opposed to letting Lem control it? Please, help me out here?"

"Well…maybe that's why I can't, you telling me I'm not."

"Oh, don't you start. You know how I feel about guns. I don't know if I know who you are anymore." She shook her head and slammed the front door.

_And as the fears of George Michael staggered towards him in a foggy haze from the distance, Michael pondered his own staggering._

Michael eyed Maeby sat behind the sprawl of papers on the hotel desk, phone glue to her ear. "I'll be back."

She placed a finger to her lips and nodded. "Yeah, reduce it down by twenty percent…excuse me." She held her mouth over the mouthpiece. "Do you want something, Michael?"

_Only his partner to join his vacation with him._

"Want me to bring you back lunch…or?"

"Just…pick whatever one you want. I'm not really fussed." She returned to her phone. "No, we need road access…"

_And as Michael left his partner again, whose eyes continued to sting from the sweet sweat of a hard days work, Michael continued to take a longline vacation. And an element of introspection._

Michael wandered down the quaint street, passing a few coffee houses. Michael peeked through the windows, his hot breath creating a fog on the window, and spotted a chair up the back. Soon, he had settled in that chair, and was flipping through a regional paper until he eyed a young couple walking in with a stroller.

_And inside him, re-awakening the vision of a life ahead of him,_

Behind the couple walked a pair of leggy blonde women in very short skirts who vered towards the counter, but his eyes didn't wander. The mother lifted the baby, nursing it as she took a seat in the round-sofa chairs.

_A whole life ahead of him, as if he were to start over again, but mixed with a healthy power of denial._

The chiselled young father returned to the pair, carrying two coffees in take-away cups.

Michael leaned forward, mind leading into daydreams. "Rome wasn't built in a day." He muttered to himself.

_And the man who had not lived in fear, realised he feared only one thing. Meanwhile, the man who feared most of what was not tied down on his life, wondered about the life he was only half living._

George Michael half lay on the sofa, watching the end of Telenovela 'El Amor Prohibido' as Marta Estrella appeared on the screen.

"Vivir con miedo es como vivir a medias!" She exclaimed to a group that appeared to be her family, as the scene reached a tearful climax.

_So defeated in a life he was half living, George Michael had taken to watching Telenovelas, even though he didn't speak a word of Spanish._

George Michael sunk into the sofa, eyelids flickering as John Beard appeared on the TV.

"And next at six, tragedy has battered Balboa Bay. The Bishop has been choked, and police remain baffled."

"Oh no." George Michael's eyes widened.

_George Michael panicked that his actions and reactions triggered another tragic end._

George Michael sank against the shower wall as he closed his eyes, her smell drifting into his nose, her shape into his sight, her gentle whimpers into his ears. His hand drifted down, the illusion around him becoming stronger and stronger, her figure softly illuminated by tea candles and bathed in the rose petals he'd laid out last time they'd made love, body pressed against her soft skin, taste on the tip of his tongue, until what felt like a bolt shot through him, and everything turned dark, another hot mess on his hands.

From peripheral vision, he had heard the bathroom door open, and saw his naked fiancée enter.

"George Michael!"

He'd felt the previous moment draw him back into arousal, his fiancée watching him through the fogged glass.

"You're excited!" She'd unknotted her silk robe, dropping to the ground, leaving a sensual figure with soft eyes draped in loose red curls, moving towards him. She pulled open the shower and smiled.

_George Michael's mind had gone blank, seeing for a moment only the beautiful, naked woman entering his shower with such desire in his eyes. But then, before him, was the object that came between that and which he dreamed; the choice which he had made, the scarlet woman. And he hated himself._

"Hey, beautiful." George Michael had grinned.

_He desperately tried to keep himself in session, because he knew if he could hold his position, he would get the medal._

"Is this what does it? The shower?"

George Michael had stammered, "Ah, ah…"

"The warm running water? That helps?"

"Yeah, that must be it."

_But the reminder helped keep his sergeant at the ready._

He'd wrapped his arms around Rebel, diving into kissing her, drawing it out as long as possible, closing his eyes, fighting earlier visions while trying to stay in the moment.

_As Rebel took the lead, pressing him up against the wall, as he clung to her like a surrendering soldier to a white flag, while George Michael hadn't concentrated so hard since he'd tried to write about himself._

George Michael had jabbed his pelvis into Rebel, kissing her deeper to keep her still.

_Because while he was still full throng into the battle, his mind kept wandering, and the stench and vision of past encounters kept consuming his thoughts._

His hands covering the terrain on her back continuously, he tried to pick up the pace, wanting desperately for the final assault.

"Oh George…" Rebel had moaned into his mouth.

He'd grunted desperately tried to block out her voice, focusing ever harder.

Rebel had bellowed into his mouth and pulled away forcefully from the kiss. "Wow, are you done?"

_The Scarlet woman put an end to any notion he was going to be done today._

"Oh yeah. That was amazing."

_And because of him, or so he thought, another Bishop had to choke._

George Michael gazed horrified at the TV screen and the scene.

_Michael and Maeby, however, had found other pleasures._

Michael stretched his shoulders, moving his shoulders around as he sat up on the masuse bench, wrapping the towel around his waist. "That was amazing."

Maeby sat up from her side, lifting the weight around her waist. "You know, I actually feel a bit more relaxed." Maeby smiled.

"What I would love right now, is a shower.

"I'm warm enough, I'll wait out here." Maeby climbed on the bed and played with her phone, sinking into the mattress, propping between the bed-head and the melon that was her belly. She eventually flicked on the TV.

Lindsay stood in a construction site behind a podium, surrounded by signs. "No, there's no way my nephew would be on Men's Rights Activist chat pages. They must be mistaken…"

Michael wandered back into the bathroom, scrubbing his teeth, as Maeby refocused on the TV.

"…And building on those partnerships with local communities, I am very proud to announce we have further expanded our program. In partnership with the Bluth Company, I am pleased to dedicate this plaque to honour the first peoples of this site."

_The plaque was due to be commissioned in a weeks time, a week which had been carefully scheduled into Michael and Maeby's diaries. But Lindsay had usurped the company itself and taken the dedication in full glory in name of Lindsay Bluth. And in responding to this news, Maeby used a weapon fashioned from a device that the manufacturer who we cannot name denies bends, but was widely known to._

Maeby's pupils dilated and her jaw clenched, her fist squeezing over her phone which had a well publicised tendency to warp unintentionally, bending and snapping it, its condition rendered irrelevant as it went sailing into the TV.

Michael returned to the room to see the widescreen TV bowl forward off its stand into the ground with an almighty crash.

"I spend a week coordinating incoherent landscapers to fix the mess those f[beep] idiotic camera crews made, via text message, while she steals our money, and she crashed our plaque ceremony!" Maeby raged.

Michael paused, taking in the scene, and froze. "And you crashed the TV, and your phone."

"I don't care!"

_Maeby had her mother take things from her entire life – possessions, friends, and credit. And having expended significant legitimate effort on something to have it stolen was somewhat of a sore spot for her._

"Well, at least you won't be on your phone for the rest of the trip."

Maeby refocused, finding her hand empty of the appendage. "We're leaving today, aren't we?"

"Not today."

"Why not? We have things to protect her from wrecking back home?!"

Michael sighed. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

"But it's hot in here?" She fanned herself, trying to get more comfortable despite the melon shaped middle.

"It's snowing out, you'll cool down. Honey." He added.

_Having lost a limb, Maeby felt out on one, especially having to use hers more than she was used to, being dragged around by a person who wanted to become more of one to her._

The pair peered through the glass panels of the bay window, bulging with antique trinkets.

"Well, that one up the back might suit our house."

"Just…pick whatever one you want. I'm not really fussed." She fidgeted with her fingers.

"Maeby, you're off the grid at the moment, so you might as well…embrace the grid you're in."

_Michael got one of those looks he had been delivering to his family for a decade every time they told him to relax._

"I try, and I try, and she ruins everything."

"We'll go back there, and we'll call the media the first moment we step off that plane and set the record straight. Okay?"

She sighed. "Sure."

_Between the journey of the company phone into the hotel's overpriced LCD, and Michael the fire in her eyes that had re-emerged when they had started dating, that seemingly was smothered somewhere between then._

"When did you lose hope?"

"What do you mean?"

"You were happy and optimistic at one point, what made you lose that?"

"Why do you think I did?"

"What, other than our relationship, and now the Bluth company, have you emotionally invested in?"

She carefully responded, "George Michael was somewhere in there…"

"Okay…" Michael replied quickly, "But you never thought you'd find happiness?"

Maeby considered. "You know, I think I believed in love at one point."

A six year old Maeby gazed out into the gala, as the bright cream hall radiated warm light, the couples slowly rocking to _Bic Runga's Sway._

"I don't know what mom and dad were doing that night, but I ate so much cake. I think I stole some Champaign too." She smiled mischievously. "It seemed there was happiness out there.

"What changed?"

"A few years later, I wandered into a film, where this old guy was obsessing over this teenager while his cheating wife sat, slept, ate by his side, his wife treated him like dirt, and their kid was self-absorbed."

_The older man hoped to pave over that one._

"I just lost hope in humanity. Why wouldn't all men and life be like that?"

"You wandered into _American Beauty_, an R rated movie, when you were, what, nine?!"

"Yeah, mom and dad would dump me at the cinemas with forty bucks, it was cheaper than a babysitter."

Dressed up in a long, glamourous dress, leaning against the kitchen bench as a party raged behind her, Lindsay dumped money into the young Maeby's hands. "Here's some money, go see a Star War."

Maeby continued. "I'd buy tickets to the kiddie films then wander about. I got really good at hearing the ushers, I'd duck at just the right time they swept their torch over the seats."

Michael gazed despondently at the hollow eyes of his lover, as she reminisced so unhappily. "What else did you get from that film?"

"Men only want to get your clothes off, they're about sex. I mean, you know, duh. And yeah, I'm slightly creeped out by red rose petals."

_Michael tried to recall his first big romantic gesture, as to whether he had committed such a faux paus. For the record, he was safe – they were pink._

"That movie did convince me the beauty in movies, that it could tell stories, that it could touch people. The beauty in a plastic bag…" She trailed off. "I mean, don't misunderstand me, I got my job because I was there with dad that day, I kept it because I worked." She pondered, then added, "And bull[beep]."

"Can you do something for me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Is this one of those corny Michael promises?"

"Yes."

"Go on."

"Don't lose hope."

_Michael knew the form of an unjaded child, a child who trusted those around her, was there with him, even if she was as recalcitrant as the one who'd told him to not call her 'retarded'. For Maeby, the experiment, whatever Michael's clouded intention in this sojourn, were still a mystery. And while what she had seen, and what she understood, was the true ugly, she had still not seen the true beauty in the world. If there was going to be anyone in this world she'd put up with being lead around in a place she'd prefer to forget, it was Michael. It didn't mean he was immune from her bringing out tricks._

In a hallway to Tantamount Studios, the portly Mort Meyers had insisted, "Well, if you want to get it made, I'm the guy who has to see it. You're the Fünke everyone's talking about? What are you, like, 15?"

The fifteen year old Maeby had replied, "Marry me."

"Everyone thinks I look young too. So, who you thinking about?"

A while later, in the carpark at Tantamount, Mort had queried, "Did you get the stack of scripts that I sent you? 'Cause you certainly look well-rested."

"Marry me."

"Ha! I need your notes on those tomorrow."

And later than that, in the carpark of the backlot, the lanky Jeff had leaned out of the studio cart, handing Maeby a wad of paper. "That place seems so old for you."

"I'll send Dr. Epstein your compliments. And may I add, "marry me"?"

"Okay!" Jeff had leaned forward in expectation.

Maeby had frozen up with a grimace fixed on her face.

_Whatever Michael was hiding, Maeby knew it was something of concern and would impact her. So Maeby used the weapon all female film producers use or seriously consider using at one time or another._

Maeby returned from the ensuite, "So what did you mean about making a speech?"

Michael slipped under the covers, "I meant the media."

"Okay." She pulled her negligee off, and climbed in beside him naked, and began stroking his face. "what did you actually mean?"

"I meant the…media."

"You're a terrible bull[beep] artist, Michael." She whispered, splaying a leg over him, her chest pressing against him, her fingers running through his hair. "Come on."

"I did…mean what I said." Michael insisted.

"Michael." She winked.

_Inadvertently, Maeby had just reminded him why he was holding out on that secret. Because for Michael, holding out could mean he got the one thing that meant more to him that what she had just offered._

"I can't." he gritted his teeth.

Maeby recoiled, "Okay." She flipped off the covers, slipped on her negligee, and rolled over. "Night." She turned off her lamp.

Night turned to day, the sun over the horizon. Emerging from the shower, Michael stood in front of the window, hands on his hips, only in his towel, gazing out at the sprawl of solid stone spires standing strong and tall, edifices pointing northward. He heard Maeby murmur behind him in bed, and breathed in deeply, as he felt his stone friends all stationed in solidarity in the distance, and caught a glance of his own reflection, a man empowered. Today would be the day, the best day in a very long time. He turned, seeing her blink her eyes open.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She mumbled.

"I'm just looking at the person who overpromised and under delivered last night."

_But he wasn't let her know that._

"Could say the same for you." She rolled over.

_And after their tiff, of sorts, they tiffed off, Maeby to the business centre,_

Maeby sat at the modern wooden desk in front of the ageing LCD console, as she she waved the bell boy over to her. Slipping the handset under her, she eyed the figures on the mounds of sheets in front of her. "Five hundred towards Nevada…"

_And Michael antiquing,_

"Yeah, that's a sign!" He admired the neon sign on the wall in the barn of semi-antique goods, reading 'reception'.

_They finally set out cold of the late afternoon, and took in some pristine frosty air, taking in the views of the cold Botanical Gardens._

Surrounded by bare trees with snow hanging from the boughs, and soft soil carpeted in a similar layer of white, with the paths brushed clear of snow.

Maeby rubbed her hands together, breathing on them. "Ahh, so cold!" she walked behind him. "Are we going somewhere warm?"

"We will."

_Back after Michael had started to develop feelings for Maeby,_

Michael had told George Michael near where the shelves now stood, "That cousin of yours is one hell of a girl. Too bad you can't date her."

_And after he'd seen her unclothed,_

Standing in her doorway, Michael had stood in awe, gazing upon the young Maeby as siren in a clamshell as she blew her hair with a dryer.

_She'd popped the question. But the whole scenario had been more fraught than ever first explained._

Michael had leaned into in the doorway of the office copy room. **"**So I guess your mom told you about your dad moving out, huh?"

_Maeby had been both surprised, and tragically, unsurprised; her father moving out, the former, not being told, the latter. _

"No. She did not tell me that."

"Oh."

_It had cut into a nerve in this usually steady-footed F__ü__nke, who being used to being strong, had allowed herself a moment of being herself._

"But she doesn't tell me anything. Neither of them do." She had taken the Steve Holt flyer over to the copier.

"I'm sorry. Guess I shouldn't have said anything." Michael had followed her into the room.

"Maybe I should just start keeping some secrets of my own." She'd mused.

Michael had absent-mindedly checked his watch. **"**Yeah. Why aren't you in school right now?"

_But from her moment of relaxation around a Michael, who had just gone into his own parenting auto-pilot, she went into her slick studio auto-pilot. The results had been interesting._

She'd turned, and laid a hand on Michael's arm. **"**Marry me!"

_Michael was had been at a complete loss to respond, his heart, and his head, in a very uncomfortable fight to the death, consumed with consummate thoughts strangling every notion of what was strange, what was sensible, what should be. Without him consciously being aware he even had feelings. But he was saved by the Maeby._

"I'm so sorry. I forgot who I was talking to."

_She had forgotten a few things in those seconds where she re-aligned herself to where she really was- in a copy room with the company President for a business in a far worse shape than her own. Which could be partly why she was able to stroll in there and strike a hundred copies of a poster without anyone saying 'boo'. At that moment, Michael could only freeze and hope the strange look on his face masked the complex maze of thoughts winding through his head. _

"I was just using your copier to make some campaign posters." She'd added.

_Of course, being President, and a little overwhelmed with several crisis's to deal with, he'd failed to even consider why company money was being wasted on photocopying. He was just a little…distracted._

"Well, then, by all means. Let me help you." And he patted her shoulder on the way to the paper rack.

_The downward spiral was more than just GOB's magic. But back in the present, one man had done all he could, bar work in a week, to woo the investors, turn around the company, and win the hearts._

Maeby, in the frosty air, scoured the landscape for a hint, spotting a few ducks who had failed to fly south for the winter. "The ducks. They're…fine. Is um, this what you wanted to show me?"

"No, no, just a little bit more." He led her around by the arm, stopping finally at a cobblestone bend in the pond, with a wooden park bench and beds around them of white but what would be flowers. "I still have something to show you."

"Okay." She rubbed her hands wildly together, as if to generate fire.

"Do you remember when you proposed to me?"

"Ahh…"

"In the copy room. You were fifteen."

She stared blankly at him.

"You were making campaign posters for Steve Holt."

"Ah yeah," She pumped her fist, "Steve Holt!"

_Instead of George Michael. Who went on to lose that election, but actually partly through the magic of GOB. And of course, consulting with GOB, on something._

"He did not turn out like I thought I would." She added.

"What was going through your mind that day?"

"Well…it was something I said to get myself out of situations when people questioned how old I was. And I…I don't know, may have forgotten where I was. For a moment."

"And who you were with?"

"No, I knew that. I just…I guess…felt comfortable with you. Maybe. Felt safe?"

He leaned in, stroking her cheek and kissing her softly. "I want you to always feel safe around me, sweetie."

"I do." She smiled back but pondered where it was all coming from. "Well, when I'm not being brought to wooded areas to be shown things that you won't tell me."

"Yeah, about that." He kneeled down, and from his right pocket, produced a maroon felt box, gingerly opening it. "Will you do that forever, and be my wife?"

She gasped at the round cut diamond set Solitaire in the ring. "How big is that thing?"

_Michael knew there was one way to maybe get Maeby's heart- impress her._

"Six carat. Or thereabouts."

"Thereabouts?"

"Somewhere over six."

"How am I going to wear that?!"

"It'll be like a street sign…Maeby is taken." He winked.

_Michael Bluth had a hard time being subtle._

She held the box up, admiring the prisms.

"You know, you could see it better on." Michael slipped it out of the box, and up her wedding ring finger.

"Well aren't we presumptuous." She held it up, admiring the cold sunlight bounce through it. She then returned his gaze. "Yes, Michael. I will marry you."

"And take my name?"

"Yes, I'll become Mrs Bluth."

_For the second time._

He rose, enveloping her, as they exchanged long kisses.

_And while one Bluth acquired a ball and chain, another was being forced to test his mettle._

The handgun lay on the counter, in the dirty, run down gun shop.

"Thirty bucks?" George Michael exclaimed.

The roughened, scruffy overweight man folded his arms. "It's used. It's common. I have to pay duties, and taxes, and fill in forms…"

"But…but…"

"Literally, it's the best I can do."

_But George Michael found his manhood._

"I'm not interested then." He retrieved it. "I won't take less than five hundred."

"One-fifty."

"Four-fifty."

"Three."

"Four."

"Three and a half."

"Done."

_The strength the gun had given him and given him the strength to let it go. And away in Massachusetts, the father who had never quiet inspired such strength was feeling his own mettle._

Michael shut the door, eyes tracing her curves as she laid her coat over the chair, and he inhaled.

Maeby turned, seeing her fiancée devour her with his eyes, feeling naked before him. "Micheal."

Michael embraced her, lips consuming, both becoming breathless, until he moved onto her neck. "Are you still cold?"

"A little."

"Why don't you take a seat." He indicated to the chez lounge in front of the roaring fireplace, and returned to her with two glasses.

"What's in there?" She questioned.

"Apple Juice."

She sipped, "It's nice apple juice."

"Well, it was the most expensive thing we could get besides alcohol."

She laughed, and laid into his shoulder. He shifted down, and pulled her on top of him. His hand slipping under her dress, one hand went downwards to stroke, the other upwards to tweak. "Maeby, my sexy, sexy lady."

"What did I do to deserve this?" Maeby pressed herself against him, accommodating his hands.

He slipped inside, causing her to moan. She leaned up and whispered nothings into his ear, causing him to shudder.

She buried her nose under his chin, inhaling his scent, uttering his name between kisses, the deep strokes pushing her higher and higher, the playful massaging and squeezing of his fingers bouncing her between pleasure and pain. As she writhed in his secure arms, she reached the end.

"You feeling good?"

She exhaled, and turned. "Yeah, you want me to make you feel good?"

All he could manage was, "Oh yeah."

She slipped off the chez longue on her knees, unbuckling his belt and slipping his pants.

As she started, he reached his left hand down. "Can I have your hand?"

She murmured back and gave him her right hand.

He squeezed her hand harder as he felt the light sensations from her tongue move through him, thumb caressing the rock.

_For Michael, unlike many other men, there was nothing more sexy than settling down._

Michael moaned, "Oh, I love you, Maeby…Maeby…"

_Passing up the day before would pay the dividends he'd imagined._

Michael was torn between closing his eyes from the sensations, and watching his fiancée and mother of his child make love to him, so caught in the moment. It was as if the floor moved beneath them as he drew to a close, a very long, loud heave. "Oh Maeby…oh…"

He pulled them both up, a trail of clothes to the bed, lifting the dress over her head, stripping off the rest. She unbuttoned his shirt. He kissed her neck, around, finding her back again, unclipping her necklace, placing it on the sidetable.

"That too?" she went for the engagement right.

"No, no, keep that." He wrapped his hands around her, groping, and feeling downward again. He leaned against her, whispering into her ear, as she lay forward onto the bed, placing several pillows beneath her chest, her legs separating. He kneeled down, his tongue flicking and circling. Taking something on the sidetable, he nuzzled it into the folds.

She lifted her head with a bolt, "Michael!"

He leaned back, "Good?"

She panted and groaned with delight.

His finger slid slightly further forward the folds, as his tongue going around and around, listening to her become louder and more desperate, overcome with the sensations. His other hand squeezed and massaged, feeling more aroused the longer she cried his name.

"Michael..." she gasped, making more pleadingly deep moans, her back arching, legs spreading further, until she shuddered deeply.

He fished his fingers in, finding her still exceedingly aroused, and cooed with delight. "Oh, my beautiful fiancée…" he mumbled, kissing the small of her back. He then leaned forward into her, his hands wrapping her hips, him building a rhythm as he rocked back and forward. "It feels like I've been waiting forever for this."

_Michael wasn't referring to the act, but who it was with._

The longer he went, the more energized he felt, lost in the sensations, body aching with pleasure, hearing Maeby moaning deeply from his motions. He lay his hands over hers, and leaned over, running kisses along her spine. As he reached the end, he squeezed her hands, a strong release. "Maeby, Maeby, oh, I love you…oh…Are you there?" He gasped.

"Yes…Michael…"

He exhaled, standing up, fingers drawing circles on her back. He pulled her backward from her waist and turned her around, seeing her tired, but smiling brown eyes.

"Are you good?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She smiled wearily. "What, do you…?" she didn't finish the sentence

He kissed her deeply, tongue finding all the corners of her mouth, and stroked her cheek. "I do. Just lay back."

She shifted the pillow backwards, behinds her head, and lay down. "Where did all this energy come from, Michael?"

_The air was thick with their love, musk tinged of the roaring fire. As Michael gazed at his fianee, her bulbous shape of his doing, the gentle love in her eyes – behind the exhaustion, the way her soft kips formed a smile when she saw him, and finally the big clear rock on her finger, he felt the culmination of fate happen before him. Which caused him to say this;_

"Maeby, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

_And her to smile more._

"I love you, Michael." She eased into the bed, closing her eyes.

He leaned over her stomach, pressing his ear and patting.

"She's kicking. And moving about."

"Has she been kicking this entire time?"

"No. But I think she woke up when she heard her dad tell her mom how beautiful she was."

He kissed her lips gently, running a line down her neck, down her torso, taking a pink tip into his mouth, sucking, his teeth gently grazing, listening for Maeby's delight. He shifted forward into her, movements back and forward.

She lifted her legs up his torso, knotting around him, pulling him in closer, fingers digging into his muslar shoulders while his mouth sucked. "Michael, ahh, yes…"

He kept alternating, picking up the pace as he heard her coming into heat, his name woven between moans. Reaching the final throws, he returned to her lips, whispering, "Are you close, my love?"

"Yes." She grunted, love in her eyes.

He returned to her lips, making his final moans into her mouth, as she did the same, the final waves crashing through them together.

He pulled her up, gently stroking her arm. "Shower?"

"We might need it." She winked.

Michael smiled, watching her disappear into the ensuite.

_As Michael heard the shower spurt, Michael walked up to the window, gazing at his reflection. His eyes traced his now very toned arms, pecks, abs, and settled on his eyes, cheekbones, chin, and broad face. His strong, masculine face. He felt, for the first time in a long time, he could stare at his reflection with pride, with dignity. From being a widower at 33, to losing his son in a fistfight over nothing other than a mother at 45, he would finally have a full set again. He felt proud of himself, of what he was – a soon to be married man- again, and a father. _

Michael reaching into the breast pocket of his coat hanging on the door, fishing out the note George Michael had written to Maeby. He tossed the folded paper onto the mighty fire, watching it glow red as the hungry tongues of fire devoured it.

_And as the final pieces fell into place, _

_He felt complete. He felt like a man. Again._

When it was gone, he headed towards the steamy room.

_Back in cloudy California, George Michael gazed out the window of her apartment, the flaccid waves of drooping curves on the buildings spreading limply in the distance. He caught his listless, flabby reflection in the glass. Ignoring the beautiful woman with locks of fiery red hair wrapped in his sheets to the west, he stared out east, pondering the short brunette bearing another man's brood._

His toned, sparkling fiancée lay naked on their bed. "George Michael, come back to bed, I promise it'll be fun."

"I was just looking for something." George Michael mumbled.

"I have body chocolate." She held up the knife with the goo dripping off it.

He turned just in time to see the chocolate slipping down over her soft bumps, giving him a reaction.

_The memories of a certain incident with a flaccid banana caused George Michael to forget his._

George Michaels' towel slipped off – but not before being caught on the way down – him leaping on her, lapping up the lines as they dripped over her svelte torso as they merged.

_And as George Michael got his jiggy back, the dawn sired for Michael, a new day, and a return to the real world. _

Seated in the hotel chair, Michael gazed out of the window, watching the sunrise over the horizon.

"How long til the flight?" Maeby moaned from under the covers.

"Four hours."

She tossed and continued to try to sleep, Michael wide awake and beaming as he watched the distance.

_And after 6am had ticked over, he found reality was good. The numbers, turning in little over a year, a floundering almost bankrupt company, into a twenty million dollar profit. And Michael what they had built, was far from ordinary- it was extraordinary, and he had to tell the world. _

He lifted the phone to his ear, he instructed. "Yes, just in Conference room one. Take along some banners, a podium, and a folding table. Tell them we have a big announcement."

As the taxi sped to the airport, Maeby shifted focus to her fiancée. "So, why did you really bring me here?"

"I wanted to show you that nothing has to be how you perceive it ten or more years ago. If you want it to be, then it will be. But you're an adult now, and completely in control of your life. What happened to you growing up doesn't need to own your life today."

"Okay. But Mom is not coming to our wedding."

"That's fair."

"And Dad isn't giving me away on the wedding day."

"Alright."

"And you'll be telling him."

"Okay…"

_And again, the CEO and CFO faced the press._

"Members of the press, I come here, today, with my CFO Maeby, to announce the fantastic news, that the Bluth Company have turned around, from being at a financially fragile point, to ending this financial year with a twenty million dollar profit."

The room broke out in applause, and the shuttering of camera flashes.

He held his hands up, "But that is not why I called you here today. Maeby and I are engaged to be married," he thrust her hand out in full view, showing off the rock, "and expecting our first child in three months. And I expect to see every one of you at the wedding in ten weeks."

The room went dead.

_On the next episode of Bluthton, the rest of the family reacts. From the circles of power,_

Lindsay shakes her head in disgust, and slams her fist against her office desk. "Why isn't Michael into blonds?"

_To the circles of luxury,_

Lucille's mouth drops open, and her vodka martini drops to the floor of the penthouse. "Buster!" she shouts, to which he rushes out.

He jumped up and down with glee. "Family wedding! Family…" He saw his mother glower at him. "Oh no, no, this is very bad…"

"George!" She shouted.

He toddled out, reading the text on the screen. "Oh, I'll be a great grandparent, I wonder if that would help me get time cut…" and noticed Lucille's face. "Oh no no, this is bad."

_To the circles of garbage._

Surrounded by empty cans and other trash, GOB slumps into the couch in his sweatpants and hoodie, next to an equally subdued Tobias. "Well, duh, you're gonna stop coverage of lawn bowls for five whole minutes for this?! Is there something else on?" He reaches for the remove.

_It was truly going to be a family wedding._


End file.
